


The Lone Wolf

by ConflictOfHearts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fem!Jon, Fem!Jon x Jaime Lannister, Heartache, Her name is Lyarra Snow, Identity Issues, Jon is a girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConflictOfHearts/pseuds/ConflictOfHearts
Summary: The fiesty little bastard girl had little idea about the viper’s nest when she arrived with hopes for a better future. She was thrown in the wild, surrounded by dangerous predators, snarling and surrounding her. A chained lion would be a better gift, as a vengeance, she thought and took the brash decision to capture it in a cage. But the cage she had built soon started becoming her prison. Hearts and minds struggled to chase and fight between what they need and want. One overpowering the other. The Kingslayer had no idea that the little bastard could arrest him, but he had even lesser idea that he would want to be arrested.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister
Comments: 24
Kudos: 92





	1. Lady Snow

Sleek, soft, dark, sensual skin was between my legs. The black fur against which my legs were sliding up and down was warm, at least warm enough to compensate for the lack of wrappings around my trembling body. My pink, chaffed lips stuttered, slightly opened to pant and drink in all the air. The cold was merciless, and I was relentless.

Groaning in frustration, knowing this was not my strength and surely, not my limit or the threshold I would want to settle for, I leaned forward towards the warm, sneaky bastard, lifting my ass up in the air and screamed to his ear. “Faster, Hero!” And his dark ears stiffened up in attention. He knew what I want… No… What I _need… Such was our relationship._ His slender but muscled limbs stretched out in the air, only bothering to touch the cold snow on the ground for not even a second long, and he fleeted, carrying me, like a hero from Sansa’s songs.

With him between my legs, I never had to worry about running away. He would carry me to the end of the world if needed. We have a promise to each other, unsaid and unwritten, but we knew each other enough to understand what the other needed. Robb had called me a crazy witch, accusing me of seducing animals just for my pleasure. And I often refuted telling, “A bastard should have no shame in doing so”.

I never shunned away from what I was made of. Not really. Everyone around me made sure to remind me, now and again, of what my blood was made of. Lust, sinister, bloodthirsty sin of my mother–the woman I had no idea who was. But the world reminded me of her with a name. “Whore… Harlot… A serving wench who gave head for all the soldiers in the bloody war.” At one point my knuckles had landed on anyone’s chin, who would as much as breathe about my mother.

When I say ‘world’, don’t mistake me, it was not the household, not the Maester Luwin, who’d sit with me for days together, locked up in his little turret, instructing how to make potions and pastes, or Jory, who I had goaded till he would rile up to face my scrawny sword with all his power, or the stable boy Tom or the sweet old Nan. No… They never as much as flickered their eyelids when it came to my blood. I was just their sweet little Lya, as my father had often addressed me.

When I say ‘world’, it had the scariest creatures, worse than wolves in the woods, lions in the mountains, dragons in the sky. The lords of the North and their pretty lady wives who’d come to the feast gave me the strangest stares, the one where their eyes would gauge to find me sitting next to Robb, the one where their toxic tongue would lash at me venomously for being less courteous, blame me for over assuming my position on the table, for being _less…_ even when I strived, thrived, learned, listened, day and night to be better.

_And I am better._ I have no shame in taking pride that I am far better than the little ladies who they’d tugged beneath their arms to show off to Robb, just so he would dance with one of them and take attention of their pretty flushed cheeks.

Had I been less cruel than those cynical bastards, I would have walked away with my head down and lips sealed. But I never was. I blame it on the bastard blood. Just to spite those lickspittles, I would take Robb for a dance in front of the whole crowd and he had never refused. _Never…_ Robb had never turned down my pleas. He was such a _pure spirit_ , came out from such a monster. My head falling on his shoulder, hips swaying along his arms, I never had allowed him to take another girl’s hand, even if the moon showed up.

Not that he complained. He knew my pain and he would do anything to make my heart bleed a little less. If he hadn’t been named Robb, I would have named him Hero. The black bastard beneath my legs neighed, feeling jealous of me pondering to hand over his name to another. Hero could read my mind. I don’t know how, but I am sure he could sense my feelings. I traced my fingers on his glistening skin and whispered him to run even faster.

I already knew Robb would be following me, in his new palfrey, that he swore would never give a name, because he was scared as shit for losing it, like the last one. That was a sad affair. He couldn’t eat without spilling his guts out for several days after ‘Fire’ had died that I had presented him for it matched with the color of both their mane. It was not an exquisite creature, not like the coal-black Hero, between my legs that uncle Benjen had presented. I had no good coins to buy the best horse, but Fire had stood out for me, with a red mane, and I couldn’t find a better present for my brother, even when I knew the horse had an illness. Robb had this strange habit of getting associated with unloved, unique pathetic creatures, like me, to an extent of days together grief, which our father had clearly admonished about.

I love Hero, trust me, but I will never wrap my quilts around my shoulder and heave up food if he dies. I loved food in my belly more than my horse. I would miss him, sure. I would never get linked with another horse in this lifetime. But we both know we were just bidding time till the cold would come and take us all. I think my horse heard everything my father would often warn about the winter, just like me.

Hero knew when I was in trouble. Hero knew to calm me down by taking a ride like this up on the high mountain. This was just yet another day of trouble. The trouble often had followed me in auburn hair and pursed lips, with terrifying blue orbs that threatened to pop out if I as much as sniffed in its direction. I could fight against the ‘world’ with a snarky comment and a silent smile of mockery. But I never succeeded in fighting against this ‘trouble’, because I never got a chance to. How could you fight against invisible air, which beat your body raw and bloody? How could you plunge your sword into cold water that wholly swallowed you?

How could I ever say a word against the woman, who never bothered to speak to me, but did everything to make me know with even through the twitch of her muscle that she would only dissipate anger and wroth for me being born? It was all in subtlety. Her games were cruel. It was not a war I could fight and win. She always won. She would tear the flesh of my heart out from ribcage and ask Ser Rodrik to throw it in the Narrow Sea because even the ripped, bleeding heart of mine wouldn’t deserve to be in Winterfell–my home.

Eager to show the newborn foal to our father, me and Robb had given a visit to his solar this morning. Usually, I would avoid going anywhere around the auburn-haired woman. Robb had urged. He had me convinced that Father would only listen if I’d ask him to visit. Our father had a special place for me. I know that. He never as much as took Robb in his arms as he had taken me, ever since we were babes. Lord Eddard Stark compensated my missing mother by pampering love than I deserve. _Bastards don’t sit in the Lord’s hall. Bastards don’t train with his sons. Bastards don’t get love from their father, for they are his shameful reminder of a sinful night’s pleasure._ But I got it all, so I never felt I was a lost cause.

“The Lord Hornwood has agreed to the terms. In fact, they are more than pleased to take her in.” Lady Stark said in her usual prideful tone when they arrived close to their chamber.

“I told you yesterday and I say you today. She is going nowhere!” Lord Stark gave out a thundering voice. My father had never raised voice, not even while correcting us when we were adamant and silly. It had been an odd experience to hear his shrilling voice.

“Tell me what your plans are, Ned. You never so much as told her mother’s name, but do tell me if I have to put up with that bastard, till I die.” Lady Catelyn hadn’t given less competition to my father, in the war of voices, but my interest had piqued to know the details and I had stood on the tip of my toes to see through the tall window. Robb nudged my elbow to give it up, feeling dreadness in the air just like me, that practically screamed at me to leave.

“Whatever my plans about her are, you no need to concern yourself with.” My father had sighed, his long face had become longer. “Gods, Cat! Would you damn as not give a rest to the history? Do you have to go behind my back? Now, I should speak with people about my daughter that I have no intention of.”

“Are you feeling the shame, only now, Lord Stark?” Lady Catelyn’s voice laced with poison. “Imagine the shame that I am putting up for all these fourteen years.”

My mind had raced, pleading, and begging for my father to lash out and pluck away the fins on that trout woman and tell her that he had never felt the shame, never as much as had cared about anyone when it came to me. But he had given only a silent whisper, moving away from the auburn-haired lady. Lady Catelyn had started to throw more shades of my uselessness, worthlessness, in my father’s direction.

Finally, he had screamed. “She is a child, Cat! Like Sansa. How could you be so cruel?”

“Don’t you ever compare her with my child.” The trout woman had warned, her whole body shaking.

I’d felt it in my bones, then, when my father hadn’t rushed to defend me. ‘The sweet little Lya,’ would never be enough before ‘the pretty Sansa,’ even for my father. No… He hadn’t as much as flinched for that word. He had kept his face stern and calm, processing the matters in his mind. “It hasn’t even been two moons since she got her moon blood, and you have already planned to send her away? I can’t in my right sense, send her to marry a Hornwood boy, who hasn’t even earned a keep of his own. What in the seven hells are you making me think?”

“Lord Hornwood agreed. He hasn’t asked for any dower. It is a fair match, Ned. A _bastard_ to another _bastard_. You can’t ask for more in this plight. One day she will have a family of her own.”

I had to chuckle that the woman had managed to imagine me having a family of my own. Rest assured, I was sure that was the least in her mind. She had been just spraying peaceful words across my father’s ears to make him agree. I know that because I had done the same, so many times, to make my father agree on things he would never agree with me.

Halys Hornwood had two sons. I had met them in a feast long before, and I knew the bastard boy well enough. Theon had made sure to insult the boy’s bastardy, till he had wept. And then the Greyjoy had started teasing him for being a girl, for crying.

I had no care for the red lady’s whispers. Nor for the boy. If my father would order, then I would obey. I loved him too much to hurt him, in any way. I would have no use of the boy, even if he hadn’t secured a wealth of his own. I had learned all the skills that were needed for surviving. This was an anticipated move from the dreaded monster who was my nightmare. Besides, who was I kidding, I knew there would be a day when I would be left out in the cold.

That had never been my worry. I had hunted animals, skinned it like any man would do, with no flinch of fear in blood. I had learned to make potions, salves, and pastes, and currently, began assessing and treating minor wounds with the help of the Maester Luwin. That thing could alone keep my purse filled, as long as the world had war. If I had enough golden dragons, then I would start an infirmary in case no war would happen. I had trained till my ass had hurt with a sword. I was not the best. No… I was not even close to best, because Ser Rodrik wouldn’t train me, not even when my father had asked him to, but neither Jory nor Robb had any qualms over helping me. Partly it was because Jory had this sweet crush on me.

Not the kind that Theon had paraded about. It was the innocent one, and I had milked that care to take all advantage in learning the tactics. Robb would never be a good sport with me, but if goaded enough of their manly strength, they both had knocked me down and I’d learn a little better every time I rose up from the dirt. So better, that one day, Ser Rodrik gave his whisker a soft pat, as he nodded at my landed ass, a polite gesture of appreciation. That in itself was my pride. And I had no shame in using deceits and cunning in winning the game. I would survive. I had never dreamed of what Sansa would dream.

Our dreams were different. When Sansa had sung songs, I had only time to learn to make arrows from ironwood branches, sharpening the head with preciseness so it could cut the throat of an enemy. When Sansa stitched embroidery on gowns, I had only time to stitch the torn tunics that I had borrowed from Robb. Sansa had often dreamed of heroes and princes, that she would marry one day, while I was aware that the only hero of my life would be this horse and Robb, neither of whom I can marry. My father forbade all these painful measures I had taken upon myself, constantly worrying about my insecurities, but I had the right of it and he never sugarcoated the truth.

I knew what my position was in this world. I had been in my vices ever since I knew why Robb was different from me. It was hard to understand, but slowly it had seeped into my being every waking hour. But none of it had braced me from hearing my father utter those words.

“Don’t I know that, Cat?” He had asked in a sorry voice, his temper reduced. _“Yes, she is a bastard!”_

That had been the trigger for me when my own father said it out loud and clear. A small butterfly that always fluttered its wings when seeing my father, had died instantly hearing that word, and blood had started seeping out of my heart. He had never once said before and I had always been delusional thinking, _‘If he hadn’t seen me a bastard, then I would not be one of them. Damn the world!’_

It was that illusion that had often drawn me to him. To love him, to protect him, to honor him every second till I had to die. I had never questioned my father about that little affair which eventually led me to my birth. If he had to tell, he would fess up one day. And if he was not, then I didn’t deserve to know. He was a harsh and stern Lord to the world, even to Robb, but he was a gentle, loving, kind father to me. Sansa had never been able to compete with me on that. _How could he call me a bastard in front of the woman I hate?_ He had pierced my heart with a sharp knife with that one word, and my chin had started trembling, unable to bear the pain that was flooding throughout each nerve of my body.

“That doesn’t give you any right to plot behind my back. If the boy ever grows up to be a man and earns his keep, then I shall think about this match. We will not speak about this anymore.” He had warned Lady Stark, but none of that promise had calmed me.

And I ran, not allowing those unshed tears to be seen by anyone. I had always holed up with my feelings, and would never let my armor down for anyone to see the wounds. Not even Robb had the right of it. So, I had run and taken Hero to the mountains.

Hero on his own mind stopped on top of the cliff, trying to soothe me out of my mind. But that hadn’t calmed me. The blessed serenity where I had often come with Robb, and grudge, edgy, mean Theon, that held all our waves of laughter couldn’t persuade me. For the first time in all those years, I had this wicked thought of running away. North was no good. I will have to fight wildlings for no reason. I had to pick my battles, cleverly, else I would lose. South was better and even farther down south, there were strange exotic lands, where I could be resourceful, just in case no one would allow a northern bastard in their Keep to be a help.

The mirage of thoughts rolled over my mind. This was my curse. I can’t stop preparing myself for the worst. Many times, it served no good. Keeping a good relationship with anyone new was impossible for me because I was always sniffing around to find betrayal. I can’t in any world understand how as a Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark puts on a poised face, that never has a marred reflection of emotion, even at worst hours. I never had a need to learn such dignified manners. I was never going to be a lady. Those were the skills that would get wasted upon me if I trained. Arya had said the same about herself, even though she was just a babe to know such things. While Sansa called it unmannerly and crude, Arya had called it a war tactic. Never let your guards down!

“By the Gods, Lya… You scared the shit out of me!” Robb screamed, panting, the aftereffect of striding the hills above making him gasp for air to his lungs. “Father is already planning to bring a search party to find you.”

My brows creased. “Don’t tell me you said to Father that we overheard.” The dreadful tone of my voice plunged in air. I don’t want my father to worry over this. I can throw this harsh memory to the back of my head and bury it down till it would fade like all the other days, rather than making him worry. I could not bear to see him crushed down.

Robb didn’t answer, not for a long time, gasping all around and cursing for letting me down, and I started hurling back curses at him. “Useless, bloody cunt! It seems to me, I am _not_ the stupid bastard, you fool! Why would you tell that to him? Don’t you know–” It was in the middle of those curses that I found his lips curving. My heart has been etched with the memory of that sheepish smile to call out his bluff. He was teasing. When he came down from his horse to help me down, like a gentleman, I fell on him, crushing his broad shoulder with my lean arms.

“Hush now! I would never do anything that would hurt you, Lya. And father too.” He whispered, gently waving his fingers to brush my dark curls, just like he had always done since we were children. “Don’t put your heart on what my mother says.”

He would often ask me about that. And I knew he loved his mother. Not that the woman hadn’t tried to come between us, poisoning with bad tales of me behaving like a boy. But Robb would draw a line there, even if it was his mother. It was an incident a few years before… something stupid and silly, leading one thing to another, had made him stern against his mother for me. After which Lady Stark wouldn’t as much as dare to tell anything about me to him. Like I said, the woman wouldn’t give me a chance to fight. She regarded me as dirt, and that had always hit my core.

“Bran has claimed the foal. And Arya is fighting with him to reclaim it.” Robb informed, and I stifled a laugh. The foal was black, like my Hero, dark as sin. It was rare to get such a beautiful beast as my Hero. Which was why, Bran and Arya had decided to claim the foal to own just so they can ride like me, besting anyone. No one had ever matched Hero. He was fascinating and powerful beyond belief for a normal human to contemplate his unnatural grit.

“Tell me they aren’t rolling in mud to figure out the problem,” I asked.

Robb laughed, and we moved to sit across the edge, both our knees pulled to chin. “There is a good show going on, and father’s guards are already bidding on who would win. Arya has resorted to solve the issue by calling Trial by Combat.”

“My wager is on Arya.”

“That’s a sore point to lose your coin, Lya.” Robb drawled, laying his head on the snow, his muscular arms winding to support his head, as he stared at the rising sun. “Bran always wins. He is trained than Arya and far better than her in the sword.”

“ _Always_ doesn’t mean this time. Well, shut up and tell me the price.”

“Twenty-five silver.”

“Get ready to give me my coins. I am in dire need of some to buy a few ingredients for my new breakthrough in testing salves. Damn, I need more! Can we move the wager to a golden dragon?”

“Do you have a golden dragon?” Robb asked with his vicious, cruel smile out on display.

“Yes…” I replied, lying down to see the sun just like him and he snorted with a groan, catching my lie. “I have a golden sister and I know she will win. Have a little faith, brother.”

“Fine… A golden dragon. Pay me back with interest when you lose.”

We brawled for some time, staying clear of any matters regarding the incident in the morning. He knew I don’t like to discuss my feelings, and he often gave me the space that I needed. He would drag me out of the dark places, by bickering about who we deemed to be a better warrior. I had often picked Aemon the Dragonknight, and Robb would always choose the Young Dragon. Ridiculous as it sounded, that day I said, “I think I am going to go with Visenya, the warrior Queen.”

“The witch Queen, more likely. She did nothing but disaster to her family. Kin slaying and all those bloody murders.”

“That is what I like about her, the most,” I said and Robb turned to see me in his horrid gaze. “Don’t scorn a woman, else she will wreak havoc on your mistress’s children.” It slipped out of my tongue, indirectly meaning to take a jab at Lady Catelyn, something I was often careful before uttering in front of Robb, to respect his feelings.

To my surprise, he laughed like a maniac, eyes tearing up, as the golden sun made his bronze hair shine. “You are quite a thunder, Lyarra. I would never let you go, no matter how my mother feels about it. She can fight all she wants and I will fight for you against both of them if needed.”

Feeling warm and welcomed, I snuggled up to my brother, as I had done in those fourteen fucking years, to take in and breathe that moment, letting the worst of my life be stuffed inside the folds on my head. _‘Innocent, petulant wish’_ , my head screamed, but that was fine. It was these small moments that I have of my siblings and this north that keeps me moving. I may be a bastard, but a lucky one.

Soon, we left, chasing clouds in a race towards the castle, all the while placing our wager for the winner. Although Robb knew I would win, he wagered all the time. And as usual, I won. Hero had never failed me. Upon entering the castle, I ordered him to buy me the purple velvet gown that I had set my eyes on in the market. It didn’t have the aristocratic elegance like what Sansa wore, but it had attracted my eyes.

“Glad to buy it for you, princess!” Robb mocked me, gleaming with a stupid grin, referring to that silly dress as a princess wearing. “But refrain yourself from dancing with Harrion Karstark, when you wear it, else I will have to knock his teeth out.”

“I will knock him out by myself,” I said, bringing Hero into the stables and offered fresh apples for him.

When we headed out, two little mud sprayed tiny humans were getting reprimanded by their Lady mother, and we waited until the woman had gone to figure out the winner. They both were bruised, in arms and legs, few slashes of blood dripping from Bran’s arm, but Arya had endured the worst. Her face was swollen that I thought she would get endless punishment for months to come from her mother. But it was her smile, the wide toothy grin, which she flashed amidst the gray mud on her face, that made me hug her like a bear, tackling her to ground.

“Now, now, sister! We have to celebrate your first victory.” I praised, and we planned to take them both out for an extra ride from the castle. And when all was said and done, I went up to Robb with a grin. “Ready to give me a golden dragon?”

“I can’t believe Bran lost in a fight with Arya, of all people.” He whined.

“I said you so, brother…” He gave a questionable glance, not still understanding how it happened. Arya was scrawny and never had any true training compared to Bran. “Well, she was fighting for the one thing she desired, desperately. _A horse…_ She would give her best shot, unlike Bran. Besides, a woman doesn’t only fight with claws, brother, sometimes a bit deeper poison to the mind will help.”

“You are shameless, you know.” He shook his head with a mild laugh.

“I know what kind of bastard I am!”


	2. Earning her spurs

Thin, slender, sharp as icicles edge, the long sword felt cold against my fingertip. I wasn’t sure why I was sitting in front of Mikken or holding a well forged long blade until I saw the blacksmith’s brows curve in a question. A question enquiring about the art of his work. But why would he care about my appreciation?

_No way!!!_

The more I gawked at him, my face started taking odd shapes, head moving in denial.

My eyes were goggling out, mouth opened big to swallow the air. How could I not float in the mist, when my long-time dream was making its luscious arrival on a golden platter? My childish grin must have made Mikken to join in the folly. I rarely had these moments, where I gave myself away to the gravity of the situation, without a worry. And whenever I had, I adorned myself with a stupid face.

This was once in a lifetime moment. I was never allowed to own a true blade. Robb wasn’t either, so I hadn’t given flowers to my fantasies. Now that I held my own steel in my palms, sharp enough to dribble blood from the flesh of my thumb for the faintest touch, I lost my sanity.

I threw my lean arms around the Smith, thanking him for making me happy. My girlish feather-light giggles filled the silence of the smithy. _Damn the proprieties!!!_ I was high in the sky. _And this was my freaking moment._ The moment I was yearning, desperately, wickedly, passionately for months now… Lately, the only topic I and Robb had bickered about, at night, was of owning a real steel between our fingers.

“Don’t hurt yourself, my lady!!!” Mikken’s eyes bulged. “Your father may pluck your blade out if you do so.” My eyes darted towards the entrance where my father was standing by the threshold of the smithy, eyeing at my ridiculous behavior through his soft gray eyes. I couldn’t see past the veil that hung before his vision. This was his way. He would get lost to another world, standing on a thin rope of past and present, whenever I behaved like a fool.

Any other father would have admonished such whimsical. Seven Hells!!! Robb had been warned several times to shed the feathers of his boyish charms and get prepared for the Winter and was forced to grow up to be a man. But Lord Eddard Stark never gave such misgivings to me. He didn’t need to. Some things grew on me faster than it was on Robb.

To say I ran towards him, would be an understatement. Air was knocked out of my lungs as I flung myself on my father and collided against his chest. My arms were around his neck when he gave a soft laugh, balancing to hold his stance against the threshold. “Gods, Lya!!! You have grown up. Too big to own a sword now, huh??” Ned Stark’s amused voice came out amidst his mild laughter.

And I was not ready to let go of him, clinging around his warmth like a leech sucking blood. I wanted to give up fighting inside my head. I wanted to feel relieved, even if it was going to last only a moment. I knew my pathetic, low, self-esteemed head would ruin everything come the next day, questioning my worth over and again. But I gave myself a pass that second, breathing into his leather tunic to catch his scent. And his protective, loving heart was beating against my cheeks. Did my heart felt lighter…?? Oh, I so much as spilled a teardrop when his thick palms gently rubbed against my back.

“Aye!!!” Mikken responded, sheathing my new sword into the leather belt. “Grown enough to wield a sword, now. Can’t wait to hear her _first kill_.”

My father’s chest stiffened as he gingerly lowered me to the ground. Taking the sheathed blade in his palms, he walked with me across the castle, and I was beaming at everyone I met upon. It was quite a sight for the household to see me behave like a fool. I am a prideful creature, and I often rehearsed every important moment a thousand times in my head, unlike now when I actually gave no care for the world.

Ideally, the master-at-arms would deem and decide if a man was worth owning a true steel. And I’d pondered over moons, how no one would do that honor to me, considering I wasn’t trained by Ser Rodrik Cassel. I was planning to persuade Jory after Robb had earned his spurs. Never did I dream to taste this delicious treat from my father’s own hand.

He uttered no word until we reached the courtyard, even while I threw my glances several times at his directions, beaming brightly. I would usually be micro-analyzing him, wondering what would go on in his head. At that moment, though, I wasn’t bothered by it. _I own a bloody sword, now._ I could goad Robb till he would snap out and run for a lonely ride to the hills. I have earned mine before Robb could. How could I easily let go of this moment?

“Owning a blade is not the same as wielding a blade, Lya,” Father said, offering the sword to my hand.

My face became long, like his. I hadn’t expected he would doubt my skills. No, I couldn’t bear to think that he would have doubts about me _at all_. It stung my ego, and I was already on a mission to prove to him that I was worth it. “Last time, I bested both Jory and Robb.” Jory was the captain of the guards, after all. It would mean something to best him, even if it was thrice in six times. “And when I-”

“I know how you practice. I have seen enough of it, child.” My father gave me a warm smile that reached the heart. “It’s one thing to fight with a blunt blade and another to wield a steel.” Of course, he’d observed all the times. Every failure of mine, every fall of mine, every wound of mine had been noticed by him. “When this blade takes a life, you have to know that it was _needed_ , not _wanted_.”

I admit I couldn’t subject myself to listen. Blood was pumping too high to every tip of my muscle to allow any other sound to my hearing. And when a thick arm patted the back of my shoulders, breaking that bond of trance between us, I turned to find the long-whiskered master-at-arms by my side. “Ready to train, soldier?!!!” Ser Rodrik asked in his cool temper. That was the polar opposite of his ideal nature. He was stern and stubborn, disciplined, and ordered like no one in this castle. But my chest stiffened, all the same, feeling prideful, like a true soldier. “If you want to keep the blade, then you will waste no time. Run along and do an armor about you.” He ordered, his harsh commander’s voice returning, and I didn’t spare a second.

I was drenched in victory, already, as though I held the world in my palms, and everything was falling right into my basket. _How stupid I was!!!_

When I returned, my father was not there in the courtyard, and there I stood amongst the muscular, large, boisterous, burly men–my father’s guards, in ill-fitted armor, that stretched me from neck to toe. The iron helmet was sitting uncomfortably on my neck. I never trained with so many layers to cover up my body. Blunt blades had given purple bruisings to my smooth skin, but I hadn’t flinched from those bearable wounds. Pain was a sweet reminder of my growth. But a sharp steel was not a blunt blade. I wouldn’t just get merely bruised, but get long-lasting ghastly scars if I am lucky, else I would lose my limbs in the process.

So, I bore the scaled armor, which was better than the plated ones, to move around for the entire day. I was thinking the old man would train me. After all, he’d called me a soldier. But, no. Every one of my father’s guards was giving their best on the pit, and although I made a mental note of everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, which I assumed would be useful when I would be given a chance, the whole waiting business went futile. The bloody white whisker didn’t allow me anywhere close to the pit. I had walked around him like a cat, politely giving him a glimpse of my presence. Rather than sending me to the pit to fight, he had asked me to help heal the wounds of the injured men.

Those men were all glowing with sweat, the aftereffect of owning the control of one another’s fate, flashing through their steamed breath, even if it was for mere moments. _I wanted that._ I craved to feel that pump of blood in my body. When Ser Rodrik asked all the men to disperse, I lost my cool. I wandered in long strikes, with my held high, and asked in my formidable voice. “I want to get into the pit. I want to fight too.”

He glanced at me as though he had no idea where I’d come from. Bloody bastard!!! He was simply putting off a show in front of my father. If I’d guessed the reason behind the twitch of his whisker right, I knew he was pitying me. “To lose your limbs, girl???” He mocked. “Those are trained soldiers, whom I myself groomed since they were boys. Not your sweet brother who will refuse to touch his tip of the blade on you, because it will bruise your body. Run along, now!!! I will see your worth when the time comes.”

The low whispers from the men around gave goose prickles to my skin. I couldn’t bear the insult. Not in something that I’d always assumed better about myself. Pride and ego spoke for itself through my trembling, angered lips. “I have earned my own blade. I am better than any of your men. I have waited for fourteen freaking years. I want to learn more!!! _Let me learn!!!_ ”

He narrowed down his gaze at me like I’d grown two horns on my head. If Robb was here, he would have said I’d looked like demon reincarnated. Waving his hands around his men, he asked the fighting pit to be cleared. Suddenly, trepidation and anxiety filled my boiling blood, and I sought out for someone more familiar amongst the crowd. I’d confidence in my skill. I’d equally knocked down Robb, as much as he had done to me. I was swift and calculative, as I was lean, whereas Robb was muscular. I could take out anyone, right?

“There is no going back if you enter that pit.” Ser Rodrik warned, clutching to my shoulders, and a drop of sweat dribbled down my neck. “You think you deserve to own a real sword??? Fine!!! Then pass this simple test. If you fail today, you will give up taking the blade.” He said in his calmest voice and my ears turned red. Did he set it all up to prove I would lose, just so he can make me back off? Every waking day, since I could remember, I was roaming with a wooden club, playing the parts of heroes from songs. _How dare does this white whisker underestimate me?_ “Is that understood, _Lady Lyarra_?” His treasonous voice that addressed me as a lady, gave it all away of his intention. I was a girl before him, one who was not worthy of fights on the field. I clenched my teeth in murderous anger before I shrugged his arm from my shoulder and entered the pit. “You can choose anyone who you want to fight against.” The old man offered.

They laughed at me… They all freaking laughed at me, one after the other. Obviously, they saw me as this girl, with no thick muscles to aid in putting weight on the blade. But I couldn’t get distracted now. If I did, then I would make terrible mistakes. I tried to remain calm, but I was earnestly wishing for Robb to be there in the pit, to help me choose, to help me guide. I took a complete moment, breathing in and out before my eyes traveled to every face I remember. Instinctively I wished for someone of Robb’s physique, muscular but young enough to make mistakes. But, this fire inside me, the wroth of my being, this monster inside me, gave a dare. I knew it was the stupidest mistake I was going to commit, but I was stubborn and idiotic by nature and I pointed my sword at the old man, Ser Rodrik. I could hear the crowd go silent, and everyone’s breathing becoming too audible to my sensitive ears.

All foolish acts would look like bravado only for a second, and my foolish temper was beginning to fade in its glory when the old man gave a mocking laughter. “If you truly believe you can best me, then you have already lost in choosing your battles, girl. What is the point to teach a stupid lamb which will offer its head to the butcher?” The old man said, and I knew it was true in my bones. He was too good to be bested on an even ground. He was an anointed knight, for God’s sake. But I can’t let him know I was scared.

“Frightened, Ser Rodrik?” I taunted. _I had to._ Playing with his head was my thinnest veil to escape this tragedy. “Is it unnerving for you to lose against the same girl you refused to train? Don’t worry, I will go easy on you. After all, Winterfell will need a master-at-arms who is not crippled.”

The air became silent with time, and I knew what I had done. Even if I win, I was never going to be trained. But, at least, I would be remembered as the girl who challenged the white whisker. Men would chant praises for days to come, and finally, I could put an end to my fantasy of becoming a warrior like Queen Visenya, and ask my father to get me married to the bastard boy of Hornwood.

It worked, brilliantly, in a way that I hadn’t expect it to work. The old man was too honorable to think I was just messing with his head. It didn’t mean I was safe from blows. The shiny long blade in his arms sliced the thick air with a sound of ‘whoosh’ and went straight to my legs to cut it in halves. “Fuck!!!” I muttered, scarcely escaping the blow by falling back. He was really going for it, for my life, more like aiming for a crippled life. I was quick to recover, and I was already on my feet before he came back and for the first time, my steel kissed his own, and with greater effort, I dodged it.

I guarded my vulnerabilities and waited for his weak moment. Ser Rodrik was not so thick muscled. He was old, yes, but not so thick for me to prod at his extra skin. In fact, he seemed to be aware of guarding his vulnerabilities just like me, which gave me no choice other than to wait. We circled like hawks, and I always stood on defense. That was my tactic. Being fast and swift before my opponent could guess my next move and place the blade on their neck. I would have lunged on Robb and taken him out with preciseness if he was my opponent. But my stakes were high now. I was holding a real blade, and it meant a choice between life and crippled life. Besides, Ser Rodrik was not Robb.

Blade swinging across the air, Ser Rodrik danced new steps that I had never anticipated or ever seen anyone performing. Jory never taught me about it, and I kept falling back as he swung at all directions, his arms too fast for me to find an unguarded area to attack. I had trained only with Robb to anticipate every move of his, but Ser Rodrik seemed to be an unknown puzzle for even the men around here. No one had seen him train.

They were all hurling praised curses for his splendid moves, which made my confidence be pulled down a peg. He lunged his sword at my chest and even though I tried to defend, his arms were too powerful for me to dodge, let alone parry. I was on the ground, knocked down on my ass, panting in need of air, suffocating inside the helmet. He raised the sword above his head, a last act of chivalry to prove his prowess before cutting me down, and instinctively I kicked his shin, hard enough that my heels ached tensely for me to regain the momentum and raise.

Now, it was his time to be eating mud. And he was more tired than me. Probably the aftereffect of over-swinging the sword. Still, he was far away from giving up. In fact, I couldn’t see myself winning this little tryst. Even if I was fast, I wasn’t landing any attacks. He was leading the play. “How does the mud taste, old man?” I dared myself to play with his head, casually, as though I was unbothered. “Don’t worry if you forgot the taste. I will feed you some more before you go to bed.”

The men laughed, and I saw his whisker tremble. I knew I got under his skin. I just needed one mistake of his and I would win. Hope blossomed in my chest, and I vigorously escaped his blows. He went for my head, towards my arms, to every possible place he could find my body. I couldn’t match his strength, but my body was flexible than his. It was when the last straw of his patience dried that I saw his weakness when he raised his sword high across his head to give me a final, fatal blow. Had I been a clever defender, I would have jumped away. But I was a vain loser. So, I brought my elite blade to plunge between his underarm and the side of his chest, that I was stunned to see blood trickle down my glistening steel.

Have you ever came too close to victory and started indulging in its taste, only to realize you still hadn’t crossed the winning line? Well, I had at that moment. _Fascination is a monster that leads us to indefinite misery._

I learned that the hard way when I forgot to recompose and taste my non-existing victory. I was given a stunning kick to my stomach, and I landed five feet away from my opponent before I was dragged in the mud further, by the force of his blow. I was already ready to heave my morning breakfast. Each little muscle in my body ached, my arms sore to the point of dead, dealing with the impact on the ground and I blinked several times to focus, all the while wondering why my shit-head provoked for a duel that I knew I wouldn’t win. Pate would have been an easy target. He’d always lost to Robb. Even Tiny Tom would have been a fair reward. Now, I would have to live as a laughingstock, losing my blade. How could I even face my father? I flexed my fingers to clutch the phantom blade that I owned only for a day. Right!!! Now, I had to go to bed knowing I didn’t deserve to hold one.

Before I could roll to my sides, I was pulled from the ground, lifted in the air, and I thought I would have to wave a white flag before Ser Rodrik would crush my neck between his thick fingers. But he didn’t. He was seething through his teeth and slowly lowered me to so my foot touched the ground. I felt shame crawling over every inch of my skin and I wanted nothing other than to bury myself in a burrow, rather to meet his eyes. Pulling my arm in a sudden jerk, Ser Rodrik placed the bleeding sword on my palms. Having nothing to be prideful about, tears almost blinding me, I forgot to take note of the silence or the reason why my blade came back to my hand.

He left the damn place, walking to the armory. It was then, only then, my head processed, and I was already surrounded by my father’s men as they teased my win, calling me to join their little feast in Wintertown. They forgot that I didn’t fit with them. In fact, I forgot that I didn’t fit with them. I would have loved to join, but I am a girl, and I knew what conspiracies would be spread about my purity if I as much as wander with strange men.

When all was said and over, I walked back to the armory, helmet in my hand, still reeling in the memory of what I had done, my insecurity questioning the rights if I’d earned it or not when I heard his voice.

“You will be split into two, within five seconds, if you get yourself in a battle.” Ser Rodrik’s thundering voice boomed, and I saw him leaning against the wooden table. Jory and my father were standing next to him. My jaw slacked, hands twitched, eyes plopped out, seeing two of the most respectable men I knew, standing close to the master-at-arms. Did they watch me fighting?

Shame was wholly eating my body. My flushed cheeks grew more red, like berries, as my eyes searched for my father. He was not offering the smile that he’d offered in the morning. Would he disown me for not being honorable? My eyes went downcast towards my leather boots, unable to breathe in the same room as my own father.

Ser Rodrik pulled my chin harshly to face his stern face. “Do you think your mind games will help when five men attack you from all the corners?”

“It worked with you.” I bit my loose tongue that had its way of its own before my head could filter.

His face twitched, and we stared at each other, animosity dissipating each moving minute until Jory laughed like a fool seeing a play. Even Ser Rodrik’s cursed lips gave a wavering smile. “Aye!!! That you did me, girl. I should have listened to Jory. But let me make it clear. I will train you with honor and you will learn to fight with honor. It is a pride to take a blade to your chest, rather to stab an enemy’s back.”

Still, I couldn’t in my right mind face my father. He wouldn’t approve of this. So, I did the only thing that would mend the bonds with my father. I handed over that bloody sword to the master-at-arms. At least, the old man would feel victorious, now.

“Have you given up, already?” He roared, and I stared up, shaking my head, not knowing how to form the words of why I would be quitting. “That was not a fair game. Aye!!! But my arms are bleeding while yours are not. You earned it. Keep it to yourself.” He said with another pat on my shoulders, like the same he’d given in the morning.

Only then my mud head started working. _I was merely tested._ Mouth gaping wide, I stared at Jory who offered a silent wink, teasing me of my victory. They had done it to see my worth.

“Now, I won’t be like Jory to leave your slogging ass as you wish. If you think you can best men, then you have to be as disciplined as them and work harder to earn your place. There won’t be any excuses, else you will do your punishment. Is that understood?” Ser Rodrik bellowed out a command rather than asking a question, and I nodded like a child attentive on snatching candies.

Finally, when the armory became silent, Lord Stark came, his hands fumbling to help me out of my scaled armor. “I am sorry, father.” My voice was breaking. I couldn’t let him down. I knew I embarrassed myself and became a ridicule laughingstock. Who would be proud of me, now?

“What for, Lya?” He asked unbothered, as he helped me out and checked for wounds on my knees. It was not on my knees, but the back of my thighs. My breeches were covered from him to see my bruises. Only when he assumed I was not wounded more than I could take, he gave out a long sigh. “I should be sorry. I shouldn’t have let you do this. Not in the pit. Ser Rodrik had asked of me, and Jory was insisting you were ready. You should not feel any need to force yourself to this trauma. I gave a promise, Lya!!! And Gods… blame my-”

“So, are you not angry that I let you down?”

His face contorted in an angle of mystery. “You can never let me down.”

* * *

I was whetting the sword, a brand new skill that I acquired from my father. Oiling the blade–‘White Whisker’ I’d named it, for it tasted the old man’s blood first, was my favorite pastime. Especially if that pastime allowed me to escape from the hollowness in my head.

The only other work that could put rest to my wavering thoughts was standing on the pit and training till I bled. I earned to feel that rush every day, as though it held solutions to all my worries. This wasn’t an easy journey. In fact, when I’d begun I’d cried myself to sleep, as pain surged from head to toe, every time the field kissed my ass.

It’d been too hard on me, in the beginning. Disciplining myself to adhere to this new lifestyle had brought a monster out of me. _Too consuming._ It broke all resolutions of my heart. I was about to give up one day. Ser Rodrik had told me otherwise. He’d asked me to embrace the pain, let it grow inside me, and slowly with time, I eventually surrendered. I had never understood why my father’s men boasted about getting killed in the war. Now, though, I get it. It never mattered what we were fighting for, or against who we were fighting. It only mattered we fight.

As days passed into moons, I had never felt so much as alive to wake up before anyone and follow even the minuscule instruction of what Ser Rodrik would command of me.

It had been close to eight moons now. Ever since I became one among the men in the castle. It’d not been that way in the beginning. I had gone to pit, trained with Robb, my father’s guards, and slowly over time, I’d earned Ser Rodrik’s trust. And seeing my restlessness, which I often was, if left alone to my mind, he gave me simpler tasks.

The one where I could assist the Smith to beat on an anvil to make horse-shoes, arrow-heads. Everyone must earn their keep, right? And so I took it as a craft and poured my dedication to learning the art of it. My father hadn’t given approval to my enthusiasm. In fact, he’d pulled me out and explained how I would not need to subject myself to such harsh survival, and he’d promised he’d leave me with plenty of coins.

I’d heard it a thousand times, of how even a Stark bastard meant a good stock to be purchased. But I didn’t want myself to be purchased. I was too prideful to live at other’s mercy. And so, I’d politely asked him to let me grow on my own. Soon things had caught fire on my heels.

I hadn’t visited the Maester’s turret in moons. Even though he’d requested my help. I simply had no time to spare for the gray-haired old man. Roaming around in the castle, sharing food with my father’s men, my life was on fire, enjoying every passing moment, right from leaving to the woods for a good hunting or replace guards on the battlements or to go for a patrol on the lands of the castle owned. I’d become a participant in the crisply important duties. Some were done out on spare hours and others were too important to ignore.

Over time, I’d learned that I was not good at following commands. No, I lacked the natural ability to do so. I hadn’t done any work that I was commanded, without having my own mind play judgment on it. It was ridiculous to look at the problem at hand and not find a good solution for it.

If Ser Rodrik would send me to bring the troubling peasants, I’d rather solve the issues. To tell I’d used my place as Lord Stark’s daughter would be an understatement. Well, I was a bastard for a reason. I’d used anything that was thrown on my way. Ser Rodrik had tried punishing me, but most of the time, he’d given me a pass after every trial that I’d failed. Again, I’d use my bastard status here with which I stood a step above in status than the men I wandered about.

No one bothered to make an issue out of it. The surrounding men had no qualms over anything I did. Of course, their reasons were different to play nice with me. Initially, I’d been thrilled to speak with them, mingle with them, and at one stage I’d thought I could fit in this role, in Winterfell, to always be by Robb’s side. But when I’d started hearing salacious comments about my womanly body, I had to restrain myself from punching the same men I shared my ale with.

The innocent smile from the lips of those men had transferred to gentle touches through the tip of their fingers towards my arms. It was consuming my blood-wrenching soul to exist amongst them, who’d whisper me beautiful, pretty, and more profanities that I couldn’t fathom in my head and move along without getting bothered. I’d forced myself to be a loner now, and my questionable future was quenching my soul.

Robb had given me no peace either. He’d asked me to refrain from involving in manly affairs, as he’d promptly addressed the line of duty I had committed myself to. I’d thrown a fit of how he could easily throw away my happiness with such insults. And I’d walked away on him, never turning back. It’d been a moon that I last spoke with him. As I said, my ego was huge as a mountain to even apologize to the only person I knew in and out.

My time in this role was slowly ticking. I was aware of it. It would be a matter of days when my father would reprimand me and lock me in a tower. Or worse, he might give my hand to a stranger, and be done with his duties. I didn’t know which was more painful. All I learned was, I was not going to be fit enough to run alongside these men in the races that had no end line.

“If I could get a golden dragon every time you brooded, I could build a Kingdom of my own, my salt-wife!!!” Theon’s voice erupted from behind, his sly smile wickedly playing a curse. “How about a deal?? I will give a golden dragon for every minute you bare your lithe body to me?” Before my eyes traveled, my long sword was pointed to his neck, slightly nicking to see if a few drops of blood would shut his unwelcomed presence. He flicked the blood with his finger and licked it like tasting honey, tongue making lewd movements, just so to tease me in his exotic ugly manners.

“Get lost, Greyjoy! I am in no mood to banter with you.”

“Your loss, bastard.” His causality had become normality on me. I thought he would leave, but he gave the longest stare before settling down on the rock beside me, his back against mine. “Do you know what name they call you now?”

I stiffened. I’d hardly thought about how I was perceived by the worlds’ eyes. With internal resolution, I’d settled to never seek out the truth that I didn’t want to hear. “Can you not tell me?” I asked, earnestly wishing he would give it a rest.

I knew he wouldn’t let that slip away. Any chance he’d get on shoving me down to dirt, he would play with all his might. And I was stealing my heart, waiting for the blow. “Fine… For this one time, I will let it slide.” He vaguely stated.

We had bad blood. Right from the day when we’d met each other. Most of the days, we had insulted hurling any crass words that would bother to roll along with our tongue, and it didn’t help me that Theon became too close with Robb, of whom I’d always been protective of. “Did you assist my father well during the execution? By the way, how did it go?”

“Don’t worry! You were not missed.” He chanted in his usual tease. “Dead men don’t need to see the cunts that they can’t have.”

I rolled my eyes before setting upon to whetting my blade. That was the Greyjoy I knew and grew up with. “Did you oil my father’s blade? I wonder if he needs your help in the Godswoods.” My teasing tone was no less courteous than his. Everyone had a weakness, and I knew his weakness, just as he knew mine. I never had to refrain myself from lashing a poisonous tongue at him, as he had at me. Somewhere, in my heart, it was etched that he was no different than me in this place. Just like me, he never truly belonged. Ideally, we should have been friends, but we both fought for the same illusionary chair that rested next to the Starks. He was just a prisoner, and I was just a bastard.

“Let me give you a tip, Lyarra Snow.” He made a point to address my whole name. Point scored for him as it stung my heart a little. “Rather than fighting off men who want to fuck you, if you let them do the deed, at least you will add more coins to your purse.”

_“Fuck off, asshole!!!”_

“Sometimes, with the way you act so prissy, I start believing you are a lady, you know.” Theon went on his ramble to make me feel unworthy. Maybe I pitied him a bit more than I would give credit for, which was why none of his words had hurt me in the past. But today I was wearing out of patience. “Umbert is making a wager to claim your maidenhead.” He laughed, peering down to see if I was affected, and I tried too hard to maintain my neutral face. “It is too tempting for them, you see, to control the carnal urges with you shaking your bouncing ass about them. I bet my wager on for only four more days. Who knows with whose bastard you will start swelling with before the King arrives.”

My knuckles had landed on his chin, and he in turn landed on the hard stone. I could bear about anything other than to think about giving birth to a bastard. The fool deserved it. He began cursing at me, hollering such honey-laced cuss words that only his mouth could perfect before I started shaking my knuckles that’d got hurt.

“What the fuck is that?” He plucked out my arm, extending it towards his chest and stared at the long gash that ran across from my elbow to wrist. I’d been treating the wound, the one that I’d received after a wrong move that I made against a beastly northerner. The wound was like me. Too stubborn to heal, and I’d no time to visit the Maester. I tried to pry away my pain, but Theon was reluctant in letting go of the hold on my arm and started tracing the scar inch by inch. “Look, what you have done to this sleek ivory flesh!!!” He seemed to have forgotten his swelling cheeks were at much worst shape than my healing arm. “Only a stubborn cunt as you can manage to spoil this blessed beauty that the Gods gave you.”

_What the fuck is he rambling?_

He flung away my arms as he caught me staring at his administrations of my scars like he had cared for me. “Who cares? You are just a bastard!!!” He deflected from the truth by placing poison on his tongue which didn’t reach his eyes, the one which was showing relative care to my well-being. “I found one abandoned, unwanted bastard like you in the woods. Your brothers and sisters won’t have of it. Thought you would both fit together well.” He said moving behind the rock to lift a white fluffy bundle in his arms.

“Is that a—”

“Aye… Aye… Stop acting like a flushed, pretty maid and feed it before it dies.” Theon practically threw it to my arms before walking away. “And like fuck as not, stay away from harming your seductive skin, at least until I fuck you.”

“Asshole!!!” I smiled when the albino opened its red eyes and peered into me like it’d known me for a thousand years. _“Ghost!!!”_


	3. The KingSlayer

**_LYARRA_ **

I have a temper. The one which boils like a molten volcano till I quench my thirst by drinking the blood of my enemy. And Gods, do I fight? I fight till my fist gets bruised red beyond salvation. My temper would make sure to numb my senses. I hate to say it out loud; I am not just a fighter but a killer. All the tales that they say about bastard were all true. I am vicious, vindictive, vain, jealous to a point of no return.

My temper flared when I saw his perfect smile, which hadn’t got a grain of sorrow tinted in it. He was just awfully perfect. Robb was supremely ideal. Trust me, I love him. He’d always been there for me and I would give my life to protect him, see him happy, cherish his legacy. But at times, like this, when he behaved like the world is revolving around him, _only around him_ , I wanted to knock his tooth out.

“See, this is not so difficult,” Robb said, his fingers tugging my long sleeves of the gown. I had to wonder if he personally asked the dressmaker to stitch the sleeves till it flew down to my fingers. “You look every inch a perfect woman, Lya. Proper, prim, _perfect_!” He coaxed soft words. “Sansa will be jealous of you.”

I blinked away my anger, holding it between my balled fist when he gave another smile, the one which could rapture my bloody heart.

“No one will mess with you, now that I am near.”

“No one ever messed with me!” I said through my tightened jaw, eyes going red. He sighed, dragging his fingers along his simmering auburn hair. “I will never forgive you for what you did to me.”

“I did what every brother is supposed to do.” His insensitive, typical answer made me scoff, as I wound my shaking body around my arms. Alright, I take back what I said. I hate him now, more than ever.

“You took away my joy.” I hated that my voice suddenly changed to anguish, baring my weak soul. “I had the best time of my life and you had to rat me out to Father. Now, I am locked and running behind you like a puppy.”

Ghost buried her head into my skirt, her claws beginning to scratch my long blue gown. “You don’t understand what they say about you, Lya. Now forget all that. The Maester says he has plenty to do with you and he will give you all the coins-”

“Do you think I wanted only coins?” I screamed, clutching the collar of his sleek leather jacket. He couldn’t understand my pain. He couldn’t understand why everything I did in this castle was not only about coins but about finding my foot and getting recognized for my worth.

He let out a sudden gasp, trying to pull me into his embrace. The one resort he’d always used ever since I remember myself. To help me cope, to help me be in control, to help me surrender. And for a moment, yes, I felt good. No matter what, he was there for me, holding me, fighting with me and fighting for me, when none in this world would do. But the next moment my raw wounds got freshly opened. Because I am a sick bastard girl, who has twisted notions of an unfair life.

Ser Rodrik wouldn’t give me any task that required so much as interacting with other men. In the pit, I was left only to fight with Robb, Jory, or Ser Rodrik himself. I went back to the same square one, where I began. Every morning I ran in the grounds, tailing behind everyone I knew to allocate me a duty. I was redirected to my father or the Maester or Robb, whose line of duty was entirely different from my interest. Not just a week ago, I had to learn from Theon that Robb had done it to protect my honor. He had asked our father to restrict me from roaming with men, who had not got good eyes on me. How heroic of him?

Of course, I saw it coming, and I knew I’d have to face one day. But I was formulating plans to convince my father like all the other times. Robb had gone behind my back and plunged his burning steel to my heart.

“You think your warm words and this pretty dress will convince me to give up what I earned. I will throw you in the mud again like I have done a hundred times in the past month. I will make you a laughingstock before the same men you will rule one day until you give up hauling my ass.” I screamed at his ears, hoping he would give up trailing after me.

He simply laughed, but his hands made a soothing gesture against my spine, like petting a wild cat. “I am glad to be broken by you.” His casual admittance started breaking me rather than the other way around. “Listen, my mother wants us to be on time. And your friend, Alys Karstark, has come all the way.”

He started describing all mundane things as if he’d healed my wounds. And when he tried to wave away, I held his chin firm between my fingers, looking directly into his lying, cheating, conniving, blue orbs. “Did you fail in the pit just to please me?” I asked, words slipping out naturally. My head hadn’t even processed. The words were blurted out, and he was caught. When he ignored, I screamed. “Why the hell are you doing this? I didn’t ask for you to fail. I wanted a good game, where I earn what I deserve.” I yelled and screeched like a lunatic.

“Well, what you deserve is respect, Lya.” He countered, his soft face turning hard like father’s, the Lord’s face. “I am sick of hearing japes about you. I am sick of men ogling at your feet. I am sick when someone touches you in the name of a sword fight. I am supposed to protect you, and I am protecting in any way I can. If beating my ass will tone down your childish anger and I am glad to get beaten up by you.”

I truly, genuinely, hated him, now. He was taking away my passion for his own pride. “I am not yours to protect!”

“Until you marry, it is my duty and my responsibility as much as Father’s. You have an honor to guard. Your duty can be assigned to anyone here. Now, come along. The royal party will come any minute.”

 _The Royal Party?_ My ears were tired of hearing about the arrival. The whole castle was celebrating, but I knew where my place was among the nobles. Lady Stark had made sure to let me know of it. I was not welcomed at the table. They had already shunned me away from the gathering, and my father had no qualms about it. This seemed to be my lowest point. I wanted to lick my bruised pride rather than stand through the odd trial. “I am just a bastard, Robb. _A snow._ And I will melt in front of a bright sun as you. I was never called a bastard among the same men you accuse of being in wrong with me. I am just Lya for them.” My fingers flexed. “You have taken it away and now they won’t come anywhere near me, speak with me, or even whisper a polite wish. Do you truly care about who I will marry? Because guess what, I could have married one of the kind men among our own guards had you not interfered. You destroyed it all.”

He appeared calm, trying to read me, but I knew none of what I said had gone into his head. He was still thinking he was in the right, and I was the naïve child who needed his guidance. I walked away, thudding against his shoulder, towards the castle gates. The chaotic preparations for the arrival of the royal party would have excited me had I not been in my temper. _My anger will be my undoing._

Father was beyond busy, Jory tucked to his arm. Lady Stark was bringing her litter. Arya, Bran, and Rickon–all bickering about the knights they would want to get a glimpse of, sharing a shade of their story to me aloud. Sansa had already taken her place, flourished in soft pink cloth, that both accentuated her innocent smile and her auburn hair. Robb hadn’t done me any wrong. He’d brought me a soft woolen blue gown that clung to my shapely body. But I would have to hold a lamp before Sansa’s dress. The delicate soft needlework of red, gold and green threads along her sleeves and bodice made my stomach rumble in soft jealousy.

Not that anyone was going to take a comparative note of us both. I was invisible to others, standing in the second row, hiding behind Robb. Robb wasn’t towering over me. We were of the same height. If he’d got our father’s colors, we would have looked like twins. How silly of me? _I will still be the bastard girl._

Taking all the air in, I stared at the approaching entourage. How much ever I tried to refuse to acknowledge, the thudding sound of horse hooves colliding against the snow layered hard ground, the military parade entering with horns, announcing the presence of the King, made goose prickles sprinkle on my skin. I could find everyone’s attention, getting fixated on the lanced men, in their gold cloaks, in their disciplined walk, taking their position along the entrance to protect their King. The herald gave a loud cry, his voice shrieking through the wind, as he spelled every single title of King Robert and his arrival.

_Royal respect was fascinating to me. What a privilege!_

The white guards came first, still sitting atop their warhorses, scanning my father’s family through their slitted helmet. At last, the eagerly anticipated, King Robert arrived, and my eyes were wet for the way it gauged. Had Robb been on good terms with me, I would have shared the jape of how father had fooled us all by calling his friend as the Demon of the Trident. None of our imaginations matched with the man before us, who was struggling to get off his horse.

We were on our knees, giving our salutation for the King, when Theon made a snarky remark. “I wonder how the Queen doesn’t have a strand of her hair undone after rolling with this fat King?” I had to scowl. Theon was just himself. If I was right, he didn’t like the fact that King Robert, who had crushed his father’s rebellion, had come here. All the same, when we rose, I observed the Queen and made a quick mental note of her blinding beauty.

Beauty was not even the word that could describe her family. The Prince was just like how it was said in the songs. Dashing, charming, with a natural pride. And I could hear Sansa gushing about it. Her pink cheeks tinting red at the mere sight of him. And the Princess had begun to dote on Robb. She was just a child. Yet the moves were already made and my stomach flip-flopped in burning jealousy. Pleasantries were getting exchanged between the King and the Stark family when my eyes caught another golden-haired man still sitting atop the horse in his scaled white armor, who should have been the Queen’s twin brother, Jaime Lannister. I moved on to the odd-shaped hound helmet, taking note of its owner.

As I was lost in my own world of taking note of the other guests, occasionally hearing Arya mumbling about unable to locate the imp, I forgot to note that the world had gone into silent mode, air freezing to pause the time, until Theon nudged my elbow. When I propped my head, a pair of haunted blue eyes was trying to anchor its weight on me. And it was upon me… _Me of all people._ No one spoke. The chilled wind was too light, but not even a whisper amongst those three hundred men came out. Not even my father had any words. Robb’s stiffening muscle was stretching on his leather jacket, his protective mode taking a stance. And every single person’s attention was pulled to me. The bastard girl who was supposed to be invisible.

I was flabbergasted. Sansa would have asked me to give a curtsey, and I knew I should offer him that, but my hands were shaking, and I had to clutch Theon’s for a little support. I repeatedly said to myself that it was some mistake, that he was probably staring at someone else behind me, but he was there, his eyes penetrating into my dark gray. I knew he was reaching for something inside of me, fighting to let go of what was offered before him. I just couldn’t figure out how I should respond. The muscles in the corner of his eyes crinkled in a momentary, fleeting joy.

And I was done anticipating another move that could make things worse. I searched for my father, hoping he would do something and take me out of this place and wipe out the memory. Because, seriously, I was scared. I was not the one to get attention, ever.

“My natural daughter, Robert. Lyarra Snow.”

Gods, that stung. When my father said it so casually, my eyes went down hiding the pain of my heart, unwilling to rip off my armor before these strangers. Did he have to add the ‘natural’ part?

“Lya…” King Robert’s tongue swirled with my name like he was tasting honey from it. That ridiculous moment was broken only when Queen Cersei called out on her husband.

“Should we be waiting here in the cold, till you finish having pleasantries with the whole household, Robert?”

King Robert glared at the golden-haired goddess with such ferocity that I thought they were archenemies, not husband and wife. But he composed himself, regaining his status amongst his men. “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.”

The Queen was protesting openly, trying to win over her husband by fighting against a ghost. “We have been riding for a month, my love. Surely, the dead can wait.” King Robert gave an immaculate roar that the lioness went back to her den, her litter following her trial.

It was over just like that, as though nothing had conspired, and I was glad no one gave huge attention to it. Gods, how wrong I was until Theon gave a whisper to my ears. “So, it’s the King’s cock that will break your maidenhead, huh? Your forbearance for all these days will be fruitful when a royal bastard pops out of you.”

“Whoever cock is going to be in me, remember that it will never be yours. Run to your whore in Wintertown and take your pick, hoping she mirrored me.” I spat back, the only way I knew would make Theon’s mouth shut. And it did wonders when he took off, stomping his foot, until Robb plucked my elbow, his eyes dancing in a dangerous madness. He was not alone. His mother, Lady Stark, was standing beside him.

I wondered the reason for her presence before Robb gave a piece of his mind. “What have you become?” He was disappointed that I spoke crassly with Theon about cocks and whores. “Look, this is how you change if you roam with men who have no standards.”

Lady Stark, in her glory, scurried her skirt and left from the place, like I was beneath all those explanations. Her prideful glare was enough to let me know that she never considered me to have any standard at all. It was a mystery why she’d waited, and I wondered if she wanted to give a piece of her mind too.

“You will stay far away from the King and his family, or anyone. And when all this gets over–”

“Fuck you!” Words spilled in the agony of my heart. “What do you think of me? I am not yours to control. Sing your songs and offer your polite curtsies to your sweet Princess. She is drooling over you, already. Perhaps she will need you to come for a rescue.” He glared at me and I ignored the stab in my heart, which was screaming at me to not hurt him. “I am just a bastard, Robb. Don’t bother where I sleep for the night or with whom I sleep. Just fuck off and run behind those royal asses.”

I knew I’d hit a sore spot by pushing him away, but he was wounding me, crushing me in the pretense of protecting. I had to come out of his hold. And I knew this sting would last for months to come. I left from the castle, taking myself for a ride to the mountains, but I knew this time, Robb wouldn’t follow me.

* * *

I placed the horn to my lips and took a long drag like my life was depending on this small act of bravery, defiance, and one night of carelessness. The head-pounding music was already drowning the surrounding noises, and my vision slowly started blurring until I felt soft arms wrap around my waist. Gray eyes stared back at me, and for a moment I wondered if it was my own reflection.

“Have you gone rogue now?” Alys asked, in her sly attitude. “Or mad?”

I rolled my eyes, before taking another swig to my mouth until she plucked the horn out from my hand and threw it to a maid. To say we both were long-time friends, like soul-matched pair, would be like telling sun rose in the west or I turned to be a royal, not a bastard. We both were desolate, bitchy, uncharacteristically ruthless when it came to marking territories and fighting for it. And I’d made her cry when she’d first come to seduce Robb, under her father’s command. We were supposed to be rivals. Somewhere along the several visits and too much animosity, we’d made peace. I suppose…

“Don’t overthink I came looking for you, in affection, that too in your dazed state. I didn’t want to move my ass away for a second from the charming Prince. My idiotic brother sent me to for you.”

Liar! I knew she would run to come find me. Although ruthless and vain like me, Alys Karstark was the only girl I could bond with, unlike all the nobles who had come to this castle. Hells, I couldn’t even get along with Beth Cassel or Jeyne Poole, who I had known since they were babes. Well, Alys was quite different, a little of a soft nature, and had no worry if I was a bastard or not. I assume I liked anyone who treated me equally. And Alys was not the one to hide behind faint curtsies.

Squinting my wet eyes to focus at Harry, I stared at the dais. I could only trace the outline of his presence. Beardy, tall, easy to be recognized among the crowd, other than the King himself. “What is Robb doing there?”

Alys snorted, and I knew I was caught right into her net. But I am not going to deny my urge to know if Robb felt slightly territorial as much as I am feeling right now. Robb hated Harrion Karstark. “His hands are all over that pretty Princess. Too busy to search for you, Lya.” Alys countered with a conniving smile. Point scored for her. Because that gave a pang to my heart, the one which kept ringing in fear. The fear of losing him to another woman. I had seen my whole family walking down the Great Hall with the royal family. Princess Myrcella was swooning over Robb. Sansa’s eyes never wandered off from Prince Joffrey’s face.

Had it been another time, I would have scared off any girl who came near Robb. If I couldn’t, then I’d have extracted a promise from him to not flirt with any. Now, though… I was unwanted, disliked, and thrown out of the threshold in the cold. I was hurt to find Robb smile graciously at Myrcella, in his easy elegance, and dance with her like he held the precious Princess, who might break if he wouldn’t hold her. I forced my thoughts to be only on Alys, for now. “Why the fuck did you come all the way from Karhold?”

Alys shrugged her arm, picking a wine goblet from the plate, before jumping like a maid seeing Ghost swirl her tail around Alys’s ankle. “Fuck you! Stupid Starks. Does any right sensible person bring up a dire wolf, for God’s sake?” She was cursing, and I offered a chicken piece to Ghost, who went silent and started nibbling it.

“I am no Stark.”

“Tell that to my wasted brother, who thinks he can take your hand right this second and run away.” I rolled my eyes, searching for another ale mug when she slapped my wrist. “What is with the King and you?” She asked, her tone becoming a strange whisper.

“He thinks I am the dead Lyanna Stark. My aunt. Wait… The news reached you, already?!”

She chuckled, her tone becoming flat. “The whole of Winterfell knows, and that’s why my brother is asking to have a word with you. Besides, the King’s fat body is only seated on the podium, but his eyes have never left yours.”

I didn’t believe her. We both had a warped sense of humor and I knew she would tell it just to rub it on my face. Besides, I was too drunk to get my vision clear and see what’s exactly getting conspired on the stage, _where I was not allowed to sit_. “Your brother can fuck himself. I am not going to have any word with him.”

Alys gnarled, her own temper flaring. “You are such an icy cold bitch, you know. I don’t know what he saw in you, but he came all the way to-”

“I assume he didn’t come for asking my hand but rather to have a word with me.” I interfered. “He has been having a word or two with me for over two years, now, Alys. I have fought him, insulted him, and did everything in my power to make myself clear. Why won’t he get it?”

“Ah… Because he loves you.” She said, her eyes twinkling.

“Love?” I asked and we both already started laughing until I had to wipe the tears away. “I wish his love was good enough for him to ask my hand from my father. Who are we kidding here? He is your house’s heir, to extend the Karstark line, and his blood should be mingled with the right noble ones. Isn’t that why he never asked for my hand?”

Alys was silent, her arms protectively rubbing my back, and I sighed. Seriously, love or not, if anyone had dared to ask for my hand, I would have fallen right in their arms. Harry was not the typical handsome man. He had the Stark gray eyes, dark beard, and a rugged face that had scars. But he was a good choice amongst many and I had this crush on him, in the beginning, like Sansa was now having for Prince Joffrey. It all weaned out with time. “If it helps you, he had asked a thousand times to our father, Lya. Our father wouldn’t consent.”

“Right… Forget all that. Tell me why did you come?”

“Cheesy as it sounds, I was thrilled to see you.”

“Or my brother?” I asked in my teasing tone.

“I give no shit for your brother. He has never as much as graced a sideways glance at my direction in all these years.” That was true, but it was also partly my fault. “Are you trying to throw me to his arms, now?” Alys shrieked.

“You are better than that golden-haired bitch. Since the moment her feet touched the ground, she is doting on Robb like he is her Prince.”

“I don’t think so. That girl is too young for such manipulations.” Alys pulled away. “Anyway, if we are fighting for suitors, the Prince seems off-limit, now that Sansa will be engaged to him. Did you happen to see Ser Jaime Lannister? He is strikingly beautiful, far better than the King.”

“What engaged?”

“Where were you the whole day? Riding?” She asked, her tone going shocked, finding my terror. “I heard the King came to offer your father to become his hand in the capital and they are uniting the family with a marriage between Sansa and Joffrey.”

I couldn’t bother myself to be anywhere around Alys, not when I was already panting like I would pass out. My head became a raging mess, heat evaporating through every inch of my flesh. If my father became the hand, he would leave from Winterfell. Sansa would become Queen one day. Gods, it felt like a thousand knives stabbing my heart, over and over. The bastard blood pumping in maddening jealousy, I left from the place, running out of the warm hearth to the cold winter, to breathe and relax.

I couldn’t. I was pacing, searching to break something, or pick up a fight with anyone in the middle of the castle, before I ran to the stables. I knew I couldn’t take my horse now that the moon had come, but I wanted to scream at the world and I had to get out of this suffocation that was gnawing inside my throat.

* * *

**_JAIME_ **

She smiled, her beautiful plump lips that I had tasted just before leaving from her chamber, giving a seductive curve in my direction. And I yearned to taste it again. Taste it over and over, till I would die out of that sweet poison. Nothing tasted good after that plump lips and I shoved mugs of ale to drown down my pity when my eyes found Robert’s hand to loop around her slender waist.

I was not faring well in this cold. This cold was begging me to warm up to her in a single blanket, but I knew it was too much to ask. She would never let me stay the night. She hadn’t allowed me even in King’s Landing, and I am sure she would kick me out if I even dared to knock on her door, now in Winterfell.

I always craved for more and she always gave the meager portion of her mercy to keep my cravings burning. This damned journey was not quenching my thirst, in fact, it only piqued my passion. Robert was unbothered in King’s Landing. Mostly he never remembered Cersei to be his wife, and I was glad to have her all for myself. She belonged only to me. But this damned journey made him visit her royal carriages at night and I stood there out, hearing his grunts, guarding like a fool.

She has made me the right royal fool. And I had an urge to reclaim her and show her who she belonged to. She belonged only to me and every time Robert came close to her, my muscles shuddered in anguish. I thirsted to puncture his fat belly, and fuck her over his pool of blood, rather than to guard him while he fucked her and made me hear it all.

Cersei noticed my discomfort. And I hoped she would ask me to calm. But that was not the Cersei I knew. She began to tease me, goad me, until I would break and give my mind to her whims. Her low neck-line showing ample flesh roused my manhood, and I had to turn my gaze away, else I knew I would do things that would bring an end to us. It was too hard to resist. She was right there, in front of my eyes, dressed in my favored color, bright red–that accentuated her golden tresses, and hugged around her elegant curves. When her tongue traveled to lick her glistening lips, I knew I’d gone to waste.

I left the crowd, my uselessness forbidding my existence, my senses lost on the world, my heart bursting to take the only person that mattered, and run away. I yearned to swing my sword before anyone crossed us. Had I been a Targaryen, I would have proudly taken her hand in the Sept and kissed her lips to claim before the world and show them who she belonged to. But we were the lions of Casterly Rock, born from the seeds of Tywin Lannister, the giant of a man. And I didn’t know if it was a curse or a blessing. Sucking in a long breath, I wondered when I would find peace.

The cold sucked here, leeching blood out of my skin and paralyzing my senses. Leaving the hearth was a mistake. Stuttering and shivering, I rubbed my gloved hands, hoping to let the cold consume and dry out the fire inside of me, as I wandered into the night. Tyrion was nowhere to be found. My brother was somewhere out here in this cold, probably taking a whore for the night, and I started missing his company as I walked aimlessly around the almost empty castle.

My wave of thoughts moved to search for fire. One leading to another I ended up pondering about the Mad King, his last whispers, Ned Stark, and the dead babes in the red blanket. A loud neigh from one of the horses from the stables made my twitching fingers to clutch the golden hilt. The horse kept neighing, as though it was in trouble. Who was going to be here in these stables at tonight, if not a burglar? A royal party welcomed all unwanted filth along with the knights.

 _A joy sparked in._ A sick, twisted joy to have a fight and let go of this agonizing torments in my head seeped in. And unsheathing my sword, I wandered carefully into the stables, peering at the empty stalls and the non-empty ones for intruders. No, actually searching for a soon-to-be-dead man. I hoped he knew to fight, giving me some relief to vent out my anger before I took his life.

There were so many horses for me to figure out my champion, until I found the neighing black horse, which was standing singular in its clean stall, having a rich ornate leather saddle on its back. I liked the color. Rich black, darker than the night, and there was a small candle flicking in the stall, shedding light on its beautiful mane. My drunken thoughts wandered to Rhaegar, and his black war-horse. _What is with me and Targaryens today?_

I prepared myself, seeing that the candle was lit, and the saddle was set, to catch the culprit. But my preparations failed when a thin blade pierced the back of my neck.

“If you even move an inch from where you stand, I will not hesitate to shove this down your throat.”

I had to force myself to keep my mouth shut. I can’t in a right sense believe a girl was holding a steel to my neck and _threatening me_. There was not enough light for her to see me, and for me to see her. Probably she wasn’t knowing who I was. Else who would dare to raise steel against me, Jaime Lannister? And as natural as it was, I wanted to boast about who I am and see her whimper. “Do you know at whom you are raising your steel?”

“As though I fucking care!” She snarled. “Leave from here, before I knock out your ass.”

“You have a trouble for mouth, girl.” I was capable of bringing her to knees in a swift move, but I liked her guts. I enjoyed it too much that I wanted her to run the play and find out what she was capable of doing. “Take away your blade before I run it from your head to cunt.”

She pinched in the blade closer and blood started dribbling down my spine. Feeling terribly aroused of being tested, at the mere sensation that I was letting a girl make a move against me, my body gave a simple jerk to take a position against her. It was enthralling and challenging. I needed this fight; I said to myself. I am just defending myself; I said again when she poked her blade deep into my flesh sensing my movements. In a split second, I gave a sudden thrust to her sword, before even turning around.

“Kiss goodbye to the world.” I gnarled, lunging at her tiny waist. It was supposed to be an easy match, and I simply wanted to give her a ghastly wound and leave at her wills to succumb to the injury. But the girl was swift. So speedily that not just before she dislodged my attack, she managed to swim into a new position beside my arm.

My drunken head became clean and clear. I cursed myself for underestimating my enemy and went into the battle, swinging my arms to slice through her legs. She withdrew back, not even daring to attack. She just kept falling back over and again. And I boasted like a fool before I missed her in the dark. I couldn’t find her around. This place was new for me to search and she was missing. I turned my head all around, searching for this stupid girl. For a moment, I even wondered if it was all a dream until I felt a stinging pain on my bloody arms. “I could give a goodbye kiss to you, Ser Jaime.”

I chuckled, enjoying her dare creep into me. The soft candlelight gave a glimpse of her actual physique and I took a note of it to remember where her fleshes were prodding, so I can stab her well. “Far from it, girl. Do you know what punishments you will receive for raising a sword against a Kingsguard?” I asked, still unable to register that I was poked twice by her. Instantly I felt shameful for threatening a girl who was ready to fight me off. I was in need of this fight… and now I am backing off.

“All mighty men are always scared of little girls… What a pity that you are guarding the King!”

For fuck’s sake, the insult stung like nothing else and I went for her. No shackles bound my arms and with no qualms of choosing right from wrong, I lunged at her. Worse comes worse, I can show my wounds and say it was for defense. I gave an upward thrust to her defensive sword, and it was almost knocked out of her hand before I came for her steady legs to slice it down. She was swift, precise, dancing like a water bending her waist, too thin in the air to catch and hold her. She dodged all my moves. To her chest, to her stomach, to her legs, to her head. And I left no stone unturned. And she was goading me with a giggle, triggering my boiling blood. _I am Jaime Lannister… not just a random knight._ I was trained for glory by men like Ser Arthur Dayne. _Who is this girl, trying to tease me?_

I danced with her then, my sword singing a new tune for me in air, legs becoming swift as hers, as I cornered her to the stable’s end. This place was not fit for a duel, and she was having a lesser chance to escape from my attacks. She seemed to be aware of it. The closer I neared her, she came for an attack to my arms, not lingering long to cause me deadly wounds but enough to bruise my skin. Snarling as a lion, I gave one thrust to her sword that came to my face, and placed my blade into her heaving chest, pressing it between her breasts, eager to find if she would bleed like me.

She stood motionless, not answering, only panting, giving up on the fight, baring her chest for me to do the deed. And as much as I wanted to shove it down her beating heart, from which the echoes were rippling throughout my own golden blade, I let my heart take control over my head. _When was the last time I dueled with a girl?_ She was special, I knew, and I clutched her gown in my palms that was clung to her soft belly and dragged her near my face.

“Where in the seven hells do they teach thieves to fight with a sword?” I asked, only able to smell her sweat and focus on her glistening moist eyes. Nothing else was clear to my vision, and I was desperate to see how she appeared. She gave no answer, but her palms rested on my hand that was on her stomach like she was hesitant to stand close to me. I did the only thing that could remind me of her. To make this moment memorable. I sniffed the air around her neck. The lilac smell mixed with her womanly sweat, started to intoxicated my head, arousing too many questions, and too many wild thoughts that I shouldn’t be thinking about. “Who the fuck are you? Not a poor thief, anyway.” I stated before dragging her sorry ass outside the stables towards the moonlight.

“Can you not complain about this to my father?” She asked, not answering my question. When the moonlight flashed on her face, I stopped in my tracks, instantly backing away from holding her gown, that was crumpled now, soaking with blood. The blood that had dribbled down from between her mounds, where I’d poked. “Please…”

“What?” I was trying to gather some sense. “You want me not to tell your father?” I sighed, dragging my fingers into my golden hair, almost forgetting the consequences. Almost forgetting, I laid my sword on Ned Stark’s daughter. “You are bleeding.” I pointed out at her chest, where I’d made a hole in her dress. I could see the sides of her tender soft mounds inside, but I was more curious about the wound I’d caused. “We should check that with a Maester.”

“That’s fine. I poked more holes on you. You should be the one to go see the Maester.”

 _What a sassy tongue!_ “Don’t be too proud, girl… Remember that I spared you.”

“I spared you even before you invoked the fight, Ser Jaime.” She answered in her glory with a hint of a smile. And I liked that attitude. I liked it enough to break that spirit and see her succumb to a hole.

“A bastard rising a sword against a Kingsguard. How curious! I wonder if your father taught you to fend for yourself when he would abandon you.”

The muscle on her face tightened, and I took a note of her face, for the first time from close. I hadn’t given much credit to Robert when he was behaving like a fool in front of his own men in the morning. Not even when Cersei ranted about his actions. But the girl was a catch. She had a straight-edged nose, high cheekbones, and haunting eyes with colors that varied from different angles through light. She had the shade of Ned Stark more on her. The dark brown hair and chin, all matching with her father. But there was some other familiarity in her face, and I couldn’t point what it was.

Was she really Ashara Dayne’s daughter? It could explain how naturally she was good with a sword. Ser Arthur’s blood would not be a cower.

“More like a _bastard_ raising a sword against the _Kingslayer_.” She spat back and my back stiffened. Her curious smile widened, as though she caught me red-handed. “Will you tell me the story, one day, Ser Jaime?” She asked, a sly smile along her lips. This was not Ser Arthur’s blood. This was rotten blood. “I would like to learn more lessons from you. The ones about your brave fight in the throne room against the evil King. My father’s version is too boring for my taste.”

“Be careful before you learn it from the King himself,” I warned. I didn’t know why I did that. I cared too little about where Robert’s cock would wander.

She walked away, swinging her blade about her arm, jumping in between, careless of anything that I said. In fact, I didn’t think she was aware that I warned. I was still staring at her behind when I heard the sloshing of alcohol and turned to see the new intruder.

“What a curious predicament!” Tyrion lamented, his legs wobbling. “Jaime, my brother, warning a bastard girl to be careful around the King! My, my, what did I miss brother? Since when have you started doing charity?” I chuckled, shaking my head, clutching my arm to stop the bleeding that was slowly blotching the snow near my boots. “No way! Not in Seven different hells did you let that happen! Do tell me it is not the girl who wounded you.”

“Aye, she did… What can I say? The girl’s tongue and sword are too sharp for her own good.”

“Tell me about it.”

I raised my brow at him, and I knew he wanted to know the details. I would have shrugged off and boasted of how I spared her if anyone else had asked of it. I have an unbending pride in that matter. But I damn well knew the fight was a close call to what I had with Ser Barristen before I left from King’s Landing. And it was my brother who asked, not some random stranger. She would have been dead had I not spared. That’s another tale, but the fight in itself was good to ignore it.

“Now that I have a new champion, I need to speak with her too.”

“Be careful, she lashes out her tongue just like you with no care for the world.”

“All the more reason for me to know her better. Who knows, I may get a better chance before Robert gets his, to settle between her legs.” Tyrion gave his twisted smile, and I scoffed, not a bit liking that he could put her lower like a common whore. She was better than that. Somehow understanding my sour mood, he diverted the subject, all the while my head going back to rehearse the stupid moves I made on her. Like a boy I wished, I had done it better in the fight. Who knows, I might get another chance to dual her?


	4. The Royal Guard

**_LYARRA_ **

I faintly felt the sheets of my body roll down to my hips. Honestly, I wanted to open my eyelids and find the intruder who was invading my space. That was the right thing to do, but my limbs were weak to even lift it. It felt like someone had beat me bloody the previous day and I was left to die. Vague memories of a golden knight swinging his golden sword in the air fell through my vision. I knew this was a dream as I couldn’t smell the stench of hay around the stables, but the faint memory washed over me.

We were dancing, but I was merely running away. Like lion chasing a deer, with every growing second he became the predator chasing me, cornering me, closing in on me. And I lost the duel in a split second. Blood coursing through my veins, I was baring my chest when he tried to plunge his steel into my heart. My pride and ego surged in anger of losing against him, especially after trying to vent out anger on someone else. I had no memories of why I was angry, now. But I hadn’t cowered, shivered, or shuttered when his pointed blade pressed into my chest. I was proud of dying, like a warrior in Sansa’s songs, until I felt him give a whisper of a smile. The dark night was concealing his beautiful, vicious smile. But I felt it in air, in snow, and in me. The ripples of his smile passed through the golden blade into my heart.

I arched my back to feel it more. He was my opponent, rival, and enemy. He was the predator. A prey would know when it was getting hunted, and his shining green orbs threatened me to know the same. At the same time it invited me, like the alluring flowers in the wild forest that would attract its food, he was attracting me. And I volunteered to feel his smile that drew me close.

“Let the Others take you!!! Stupid, Lya. Who did this to you?”

 _Alys…_ The fading dream left as it had never occurred and I jumped out of the bed, still feeling groggy. Thirsty for water, I gulped down from the mug, staring at teary-eyed Alys, who supposedly had lifted off my sheets and found my small cloth drenched in dried blood. It wasn’t this painful the previous day. Most likely, that I was high on alcohol to feel anything. Now, though, my chest started burning ferociously. The amount of blood that had piled on the linen cloths would have shocked anyone. Gods, the man had marked himself on my chest. This would be a scar to tell a tale to any man I would marry. “Jaime Lannister!!!” I spat out, telling his name like a curse.

Alys blinked, wiping her tears, and I knew she would dig for a story. Well, if it was a story of victory, I would have flaunted, already. But I was a sore loser. Oddly, she surprised me when she asked to get cleaned first. To avoid getting caught by anyone important, especially the guests, I worked my way to the maids’ common bath chamber. No one would linger there around mid-noon.

After a long bath, I returned and had shed the layers of cloth. Wrapping a towel around my torso, I greedily eyed the fruit bowl Alys had placed on my desk. “Fill your stomach. This is all I could manage to steal from my chamber without getting caught.” Alys chided, and I literally shoved it down to my stomach. The hunger had never ceased in me. Not just for food, but for life itself. Besides, I had never missed breakfast before. All those years of discipline were thrown out in a day’s agony. “The King was missing you during both breakfast and lunch. He has been enquiring about you.” Alys gave a sly smile.

The problem with Alys was, I can’t determine when she would lie and when she wouldn’t. Most of the time she mixed lies with truth that I stopped giving value to anything that came from her mouth. But then, all the high-born women were trained that way. They never said blunt truth. A lace of poison always wrapped to jab the opponent with a curtsey. It was a beautiful game that was out of my arena to play. Just like now…

Ignoring her, I tied my towel around my waist and took a wine pouch to dribble it in the wound. Heated wine would serve best to keep off the infection than this cold one. Well, the man was rich enough to coat a sword with gold; I didn’t think there would be any infection. When I applied the salve made of honey, spider-web, and clay, looking at the reflection-glass, Alys with no shame stared at my breasts. The chill air had made the red nipples turn hard as pebbles that I felt shameful and covered them, giving a stern glower at her. She simply laughed it off like a moron.

“You have perfect round tits, you know.” She said dreamily and turned to look at herself in the reflection-glass.

“What a wonderful discovery!!!” I said with a mocking smile. If there was anyone with whom I can speak about tits and cocks without getting irritated, then it was with Alys. “Your tits are not sagging to ground for your whine.”

“I know, but not well-rounded like yours.” She lamented. “So, you had a sword fight with Jaime Lannister?” Sliding down leather tunic around my shoulder, I gave an awkward glance at her. She wasn’t teasing now. It was more like a concern. That was the reason I liked her. She cared for me, for whatever odd reasons.

“It was unplanned. He walked in on my territory, raising his sword to fight against me.” _Liar!!!_ It was me who provoked. But I was in anger and I wanted to vent off. I couldn’t keep it inside. That was never me.

“Good lie, Lya. But remember, you raised a sword against a Lannister. The Queen’s own twin brother. It will serve you no good with all the troubles the King is going to place on your platter. What does the term go about Lannister and debts?”

I said nothing. In retrospect, that was a bad decision. Not just because I fought with him, but because he was deadly with a sword in hand. I had trained with more than a hundred men here, but I had never seen someone knocking me out in mere minutes. He would have made lamb in a butcher shop look like a child’s work, with the way he was slicing through me. It was a miracle that I had survived. “They will leave in a fortnight. I will just be a passing cloud.” I said in a sad tone, braiding my hair. Although I tried to put up a cheerful face, I failed, I suppose. I had lost my winning face. Now, I started eating mud, realizing my father would leave me in Winterfell. Arya and Bran would also be gone. Sansa would become Queen one day. It felt like I was the left-over. Well, I was kind of left-over, a rejected, damaged goods. “What will you do after leaving to Karhold?” I switched the subject. There was never a day I bared open my feelings to anyone. I liked hiding my sorrows till it would disappear.

“Nothing important. My lord father has not considered me worthy enough to allocate any duties. Mostly I ride with Torr. Edd has recently taken upon himself to take me to all the holdfasts he visits. It is either a too-busy day or nothing to wake up to, other than to listen to my lady mother’s rantings.”

High-borns!!! How could I not loathe when someone kept flaunting off, without even knowing they were flaunting? “I would give anything to hear my mother’s ranting,” I said with no hard feelings. It was what it was. But Alys’s face soured, and she hugged me like I needed to be held and comforted. “Alys, you are high on a woman’s hormone, today.” I chuckled. “Tending me, feeding me, ogling at me, and now, comforting??? I say, you better ask your lord father to find a boy, sooner. A baby will keep you on your toe.”

“When has he ever stopped searching…” She scowled and walked away.

“He allowed you to come here and find a southron?”

“He always aims for the North. It is your brother he wants me to persuade but I want a southron for myself. Like our King. Fat and laughing, with no care for the world.” She answered with no shame. “Even better is the lion of Lannister.” Alys’s smile widened ear to ear.

“He is in the Kingsguard.”

Alys scoffed. “You don’t gossip very well, Lya. It is assumed that his father, Lord Tywin, wants only him as his heir and not the imp. So, one day or the other, he will be asked to shed the white armor and bestow a red cloak. Now, don’t mock me before I finish my sermon. I know it is ridiculous but, hey, should we not dream of becoming Lady Lannister and having access to both the gold mines and a golden cock?”

Rings of laughter echoed my room. I shared it with Alys. Although, there were certain things that a bastard should restrain from even dreaming. A marriage with a high-born lord would come in top on the list. Alys herself was aware of it. Trying to mask that hurt in my voice, I pulled on the knee-length boots, worrying about my life. “Do you want to join me for a ride? It will be quieter than in the castle or Wintertown.”

Before Alys could answer, Bran and Arya, barged into the chamber, their bickering so loud for anyone to miss. It was about swords, lances, and horses. It felt like seeing myself and Robb, thousands of years ago. Arya had taken the Stark looks and Bran his mother’s, just like me and Robb. I felt better, and a smile crept along my lips. No matter what, they were my siblings, and I loved them. Bran saw something behind me, and his mouth opened wide in shock. “Is that real, true blood?”

There was never a day, I had forgotten to keep my sword clean and sharp. Well, this day was the first of so many things. “Who did you fight?” Arya asked. “He is most likely dead. It is so much of blood. Father said I can get a sword too if I can fight like you” Arya gleamed.

“You are too young to own a sword,” I stated. I loved her enough to know that she wasn’t trained for real steel, and she was thin and scrawny than I ever was. “And you have to keep training to own one.”

“We will have so much time in King’s Landing. You can train me and I can kick Bran’s ass like you kick Robb’s,” Arya answered cheekily, making all laugh, except Bran.

“I won’t be coming to King’s Landing, though,” I answered, still my throat raw for admitting it.

“Why not?” Arya asked worriedly. I didn’t want to bring my bastard misery here and upset her. “Mother said you will join us too. Father and Mother were fighting, but Mother assured, you will come with us. Isn’t it Bran?”

Mother??? Lady Stark? I didn’t like the underlying meaning of it. Bran looked between all the three but he didn’t let out a word. He was clever and matured for his age. And it struck me hard in my chest, where the old festered wound got re-opened. Lady Stark wanted me gone. I said to myself that I knew this was coming, that I would be thrown out, but pain crept in, all the same. Giving a hard smile at Arya, I picked my sword and sheathed on my leather sword belt to climb mountains and leave this damn place. Just as I opened the door to run away, three southern men stood before my door. “The King has summoned you to the Great Hall, my lady. Please come with us.”

* * *

**_JAIME_ **

Robert rubbed his ass more in the Great Hall of Winterfell than he ever rubbed on the iron throne of King’s Landing, where he was meant to rule. After waking up with terrible nightmares, I wasn’t interested in guarding him. The dreams weren’t kind. All bitter past of the day that I had lost my honor as a knight and forsake a bloody oath went on and on, in a loop. Tyrion, with his morbid sense of humor, had poured glasses of water on my face to wake me up. Of course, he had run to the door before I got on to my feet, knowing how I might have made a small twist of his neck and made a bloody meal out of him. I’d roared, throwing away platters of food in wroth. I loved Tyrion, but his sense of humor was wearing off of me.

Nonetheless, Tyrion had made arrangements to tend to my bruises, which I would have worn it in pride, rather than covering it up. Cersei wouldn’t like any prized scars on my body. I never understood her obsession with often wanting me to look unblemished and perfect. It was ridiculous to expect that of a warrior, especially with a man like me, who’d wanted to face death with a sword in hand. A man’s bruises said more about his prowess than to look pretty and perfect.

The Steward of Winterfell was ushering the maids to tend the King, who was likely to put a child in their belly, which obviously went unaware of those poor maids. I walked to the dais and exchanged Ser Meryn Trant’s place. The air around King Robert was stiff, the usual boisterous laugh from him getting missed, and Ned Stark was sitting across Robert, with a frowned face indicating a disturbance in the air.

“This is absolutely unnecessary.” Ned Stark’s fist flexed. “She cannot be any happier than being here.”

“So have you said…” Robert drawled. “For the hundredth time. But I will ask your daughter, myself. If she wills to be here, then I won’t force your hand.”

My spine stiffened. I wished I hadn’t heard their conversation. I wished Ned Stark was stubborn enough as I had known him. I wished for so many things. Well, I had often wished I needn’t see that judgemental long Stark face, again. When had my wishes ever been granted?

“Robert!” Ned Stark gave a long sigh. The mask of frustration withered fast and a tiresome gloom set over his long face. “She is a bastard. A royal court is no good place for her status.”

“Argh…” Robert roared, gulping down a horn of ale. “This is what you have been worrying about? Horseshit, Ned!!!” The King bellowed out a quick short laugh. “Bring me the quill and parchment, I will legitimize her this same day. Who will oppose my decision? Huh… Don’t tempt me to lift my hammer. Do you think I lost the warrior from my past?”

For a certainty, I knew, this fat Robert still had the prowess in him to lift that cursed hammer and shove down anyone’s chest. For all the hatred and resentment I held for him, Robert was a true warrior. He was a hardened battle commander that the realm had seen. Still, even Robert’s glory ass war hammer was no match for my golden sword and my golden hand. I am proud of that, and not even Ned Stark had the right to look down upon me for my unmatched strength.

Which brought me back to the stupid bastard girl!

Who in their right sense would dare to lift their sword against me? Such a stupid girl!

Lady Snow wouldn’t last a day in King’s Landing with her stupid brain in work. My sister would cook a nice meal out of her, when the news of Robert’s plans on legitimizing the bastard, just to bring her to the royal court, would reach Cersei. Not that I cared for what happened to Ned Stark’s bastard.

“Are you going to bring the quill and parchments?” Robert asked. Ned Stark vehemently shook his head, refusing. “Fine! Fine! Listen, she is a beautiful girl, just like your sister Lyanna was. All I want is for her to see the world where the sun rises in glory and flower blooms to the fullest. Let her enjoy the merriment for once. You have locked her up in this dry land, Ned. What have you got for her here that you reject my suggestion? Why do you defy your King’s orders? I promise you, if she is interested, she could marry my son, Edric Storm. It is your choice, of course.”

Of course!!! Would any man be able to deject the King’s offer of a marriage with his son? A bastard girl couldn’t hope to grow higher on the ladder. There was no way the northern lord would think anything vile brewing in the King’s head after the mention of a marriage proposal between their children. Perhaps Robert simply wanted to make the girl marry his bastard son. It was not a bad match. A bastard for another. But, before any of that could happen, Cersei would strangle the girl’s pale throat and bury her in a coffin next to Lyanna Stark, so Robert could grieve for them both.

“My daughter will not be happy to leave here.” Ned Stark spelled it like a chanting prayer.

But as all dead prayers that would go unheard by the Gods, the answer for the problem came, when Lyarra Snow entered the Great Hall, with two of the guards, by her side. Her hands were stiff, resting by her side, and I was able to sense she was fretting with the fear of the unknown when she started flexing her fingers.

I had to widen my eyes to make sure this was the same girl I fought with the day before. She was wearing a dress then. Now, in breeches and tunic, she was… different. Her leather boots had crawled up to her knees, and I didn’t miss checking out her long slender legs when I scanned every inch without missing the detail. Of course, it was only to know her fleshes to thrust my sword, just in case we would meet steel to steel.

Some monster inside me warned that we would face sooner than later. The girl was born for bringing trouble. A big trouble. And she had already set things in motion. What would Cersei ask me to do?

The girl should know better and stay away from power and royalty. She shouldn’t be coming anywhere in the vicinity of Kings and Queens if she had any knowledge of surviving and knowing her place.

Besides, a girl like herself should be aware of what monstrous thoughts would arouse in a man’s mind, by wearing such frilly clothes amongst them. She was deliberately screaming for attention. The King’s attention!!! My fingers flexed at the prospect of it. Of course, I had no care that Robert started skimming her lithe body, the same way my eyes had roamed. Who was the girl for me to be concerned about?

“Beautiful!!!!” Robert whispered and wagged his thick gloved fingers, asking her to come forward. “This was exactly how I found your sister, the last time I saw her.” The King said with a gloom of sorrow and a crinkle of happiness.

“She is my daughter, Robert. This is the thousandth-”

“Aye, Aye!!!” Robert roared out a thunder of laughter. “Now, come here, Lya! Me and your father have an unresolved issue. We need your help to solve it.”

Lyarra switched locking her gaze between both the men, in fear, trepidation, and anxiety. Her eyes were as wide as a preyed doe which understood it was being hunted by huge predators from all directions. I hadn’t expected her to project her gaze towards me. But, when those punishing purple gaze locked to mine, my body stilled in a frozen stupor. My golden armor rattled when I was dragged back to the past of being a boy of five and ten, standing in the courtyard, parlaying with a certain Prince to take me to the battle-field. Her cursory accusing glance fell forward to King Robert, next second, but I couldn’t find grit in myself to divert my attention from reading her perfect Valyrian features.

It was insanity, pure mind-trick, sick past-dwelling madness. Whatever it was, I kept reading her face where the sunbeams were giving a shiny glow to her pale skin. I spaced out from the presence. I could only think about all the oaths that I had broken and all the promises I had failed to fulfill.

Lyarra appeared scared of being punished by the King for raising a steel against the Kingsguard, but when the King made no mention of it, she offered a beaming, polite smile of gratitude in my direction. My skin burned at the prospect that she could feel gratitude. No… She shouldn’t!!! I would be her tormentor. Possibly her murderer, if Cersei would ask of me.

“The men here say a lot about your interest in riding. Is it true that you can trot a horse without skidding?” Robert asked with a hint of a smile.

“Without skidding?” Lyarra was appalled. “You ornate me with an insult, your grace. No man in the North can best me if I mount on my Hero.”

Robert roared out a thunder of laugh, while she still remained perplexed. He was amused, surely. Even I was, to an extent, considering how lean she was. It was hard to take a girl’s words with all seriousness when she looked pale and lovely, adorned by too much charm with her big purple doe eyes. But I had seen her swinging a sword, and I knew better.

Her cheeks became red in embarrassment. She was just like me when I had been young and stupid. I would easily get triggered if someone baited me with a slur of being a coward. I don’t think that has changed in me, even now. Gritting her teeth, she answered. “If his grace has doubts on my ability, we should conduct a race and find who wins.” Robert bellowed another round of laughter and even a few of the guards around joined the King.

“Wouldn’t that be a lovely game?” Robert’s eyes teared up. “I am not one of your north man, Lya. I am a hard born southerner, from Storm’s End. It will be a shame to see you cry after you lose.”

“That crying part of the game belongs only to the losers, your grace. And if I may suggest, my Hero is very unlikely to break his legs, carrying my weight, unlike yours!!! You have my word that I will hide your tears from the world. I am your leal, loyal servant for that matter.” She gave her typical snarky remark with a bowed curtsey in the end. For a moment, the men around didn’t grasp the true weight of her words, except Ned and Robert himself. I had to bite my lips, just so I wouldn’t bark out the struggling happiness. It had been a long time since I heard someone calling out Robert’s fatness right to his face.

“Lyarra!” Ned glowered. “Where are your manners? Is this how-”

Robert broke the conversation when he threw his head back on the ironwood chair which was decorated with howling wolves on its armrest and gave a gravelly laugh that had no sound. Even his own men started rejoicing. Except Ned Stark, everyone else was laughing aloud, and Robert was spluttering incohesive words instructing his friend to stop condemning Lyarra. When all the laughs died, my own ring of reality sucked in. She shouldn’t come to King’s Landing. She would be eaten alive and I would be the first one to pluck her heart out.

“That would sure likely to happen, Lya,” Robert said with a fondness that I hadn’t seen in him for years. “Why don’t you accompany your father to King’s Landing? We can see whose ass will be the first to land.” Lyarra instantly directed her chin towards her father. “Don’t worry about what your father would tell. He has no say in it. Everything you desire is there in King’s Landing. Knights and bards, flowers and peaches, gowns, and dolls. I will provide everything you need. I have a son, Edric Storm, in Storm’s End. If you are interested-”

The King went on and on, with his grandiose arrangements that would be waiting for her. Instead of feeling giddy and excited, she appeared shocked. It was more likely that no one had ever wooed her or courted her like how a lady was supposed to be courted. I believed no one would have even bothered to offer her a flower. I would have done that, rather than promising golds and gems, if I had a chance in courting her. _Why would I think of courting a bastard girl?_

When the King fell silent, expecting Lyarra to answer, I had no urge considering how I easily predicted her simple nature. The northern girl wouldn’t seem to be the type to fall for false promises of silver and gold. And Robert had no idea how to impress a woman of her type. Even Ned Stark appeared calm and composed, realizing none of those prizes would mean anything to his daughter.

“Should I pack my belongings today or will we stay longer here in Winterfell?” Lyarra shocked me with that response.

“Lya! You certainly don’t mean to come-” Ned interrupted. We both were holding hope into a bastard girl’s honor. Didn’t all the Starks supposed to be honorable? _But Lyarra is not a Stark,_ my mind interceded.

“Ned Stark!!!” Robert slammed his fist on the table, his fury overtaking the lasting taste of happiness. “Don’t try to influence her into your cold burrow. I am counting on your words that you will not interfere if she is ready to come.” Ned was beyond petrified and he left the Great Hall carrying his own agony. In the end, the King got what he always wanted. It seemed even I was not greatly inspired about a woman who would offer herself, like a cheap whore on a platter, to the King, when the chance presented. I expected more fight from the feisty bastard girl, who kept poking me at places where even redeemed knights couldn’t come close to. _What a disappointment!!!_

Robert held the bastard girl for more time, making an attempt to converse with her. But Lyarra didn’t get enthusiastically involved in any of those conversations after her father had left. She excused herself, and made her way towards the stables, with perfect strides of her long legs and Robert couldn’t find in himself to steer his gaze away from her behind and project it to the guests who were willing to have a word with him.

“Ser Jaime!” Robert called. When I moved, trying to not hide my disgust, he made the crow of men surrounding him to part away. Speaking in a low voice that could only be audible to me, he said, “Ned, my northern fool of a friend, isn’t taking any care for her safety. She said she would ride to a mountain on her own. What if she falls prey for a danger?” He asked, genuinely in concern. “There should be someone to protect her.” Oh, No!!! Not in the seven hells, Robert would ask me of that. _I am the danger._ “I lost one Lya because Ned’s foolish brother didn’t offer her enough safety. I won’t lose this Lya too.” Robert’s eyes moistened, his fat fist was bursting between his palms, and his chin shivered reliving his past. “My command for you is to guard her and protect her, Ser Jaime, wherever she leaves, with your life.” He declared with a loud and clear voice.

I twisted my blazing steer on him, immediately ready to disobey. The one oath that I took, long before, and broke had caused me enough grief that, I didn’t want to take another. Let alone run after a woman’s skirt. Cersei would claw me before any of that could happen. Besides, if Cersei would ask me to cut Lyarra’s head, I would still do it before I finish blinking my lids. My family came before any unworthy honors. Where would that lead me to?

“I am sure there are others-”

“Nah… I don’t trust them with her.” For seven’s sake, why would he trust me out of the blue? He had insulted me with a crowning name of Kingslayer and laughed out of my misery. “All those mongrels eyes are not where they should be. I trust you haven’t visited even a single whore in the capital.”

_Well, that was because I visit your wife’s bed when you whore your way with the others._

“It will do good that she has you by her side. Now, this is under no negotiation, Kingslayer! You are bound to obey my orders. Have you forgotten it again?”

“Of course not,” I said, grinding my teeth. It was insulting. The girl had sold herself, disobeying her own father’s wishes. And now, I had to protect her because Robert’s cock was itching to be inside her. “I will take leave, now, with your permission, then.” Robert made a wave of his hand, not even listening to my response. And I wasted no time in rushing out to pour out my anger through sword and steel.

* * *

The precious time to spend with Cersei or Tyrion was spent aimlessly searching for a bastard girl, high up on a slope, with a tedious path that could have made my mount slip and break its neck. I utterly despised this land. With too much emptiness, the green grasses were covered with tiny mountains of snow, here and there, and the loud howls of wolves would alert any human to run back to the warmth of a hearth. It had been almost an hour since I began my search, not knowing where exactly the bastard girl would have wandered about.

Not that I cared for her safety. Determined in giving a clout to the back of her head, I had taken the horse out of the stable, only to learn that the girl’s whereabouts were a mystery to even the guards in the castle.

The Stark heir, Robb Stark, had been the only other person to accompany her. A conversation with him had gone downhill, as my anger got the best of me.

“Why do you have to know my sister’s whereabouts?” Robb Stark had asked, accusing me as though I had been meaning to rape her.

“King’s orders, wolf boy!” I had controlled my tongue. “Now, tell me soon, where I can find her, else I will have to take a hundred guards and search for her in the woods.” That part had been a lie. I had planned on bunking on finding the girl and instead seek Cersei.

“Why would the King want her?”

“Perhaps, he wants to fuck her. Why don’t you ask the King the reasons?” I had spat viciously, desperate of ending the conversation. When the boy’s face had gone red in anger, I shoved some more cruelty that was natural of me. “Don’t get riled up, boy! Your sister is no maiden reborn. She already sold herself for a fine rate, to be in the King’s bed. Sometimes, even a Kingsguard needs to give up honor to protect King’s mistress. I am merely asking her location to protect her.”

Robb Stark had cursed me, in his own northern dialect, but the boy was beyond hurt. He had appeared wounded and battered by my simple confession. Only, after the boy had left, instructing me with the direction, the impact of my words had drawn on me. Bastard or not, that girl was his sister. If anyone had insulted my sister with those crass comments, I would have choked that person with my curling fist.

My anger slowly withered when I found the setting sun upon the cliff where the bastard girl was sitting with her knees pulled up, and a white fluffy dire wolf curled up to her legs.

Boots clamoring on the crunchy crusts of snow, I dared to go near her, scanning the grounds. Her glistening dark brown hair shimmered when the red beams of light reflected on the side of her glowing face. She appeared terribly sad, which did not suit her sassy attitude or her cunning desire to climb up the ladder in social status by treachery.

“Have you come to give your apologies to me?” Lya asked, a sad smile slipping the corner of her mouth. “Or surrender your golden armor for losing to me in the fight?” She rose and walked to my direction while fiddling with her long braid.

The leather tunic was hugging around her slender physique, highlighting her growing young womanly shape. There was something missing that I had found the day before, during the fight. When her dark long braid fell below her waist from the front, I remembered the sweat gleaming on her face as the hair strands had struck to her smooth flesh. That was it… She was missing that glow of fight. No, I was missing the sweat on her face, her puffed up red-cheeks, and her chest panting for breath. That was a sight to any sore eyes. Cersei often looked splendid after our wrestling in bed. I think I admired that afterglow on women. My eyes naturally fell to the bloody blade and my jaw ticked.

“For a bastard girl who was about to face death at my hand, you are too bold to carry that sword. By all laws, I should be the one owning your armor, well, at least a blade because you didn’t own an armor yesterday.”

“Why, Ser Jaime? For a bastard girl, isn’t it a splendid trophy to boast about in cups, of how I managed to knick the infamous Kingslayer in right royal places?” She said haughtily, but her eyes were telling a sad story of another tale. And I couldn’t stop myself from knowing what it could be. “I am sure if you remove your golden armor, I can prove my friends, where exactly I punctured you. For days to come, they will sing my glory.”

I snickered at the thought of it. She was good at hiding her emotions and better in rousing my temper and diverting my attention. Her words indeed ticked me at right royal places. I had forgotten half the things I had been meaning to ask her. Mostly, why she would be upset if she was readily offering herself to the King. She was old enough to know the hidden plan of the King.

“There are so many glorious songs that will be sung for you, bastard. But I am not sure if you will be alive to hear it.” I warned again, trying to frighten her.

Lyarra gave a long sigh. “I am always ready for it. Death has never scared me.” Her answer juggled my senses. For a thin moment, I had forgotten that the girl was trained by the master-at-arms. It was a proud feeling for any warrior to die with a sword in hand. At least, I promised myself that I would give honor to her that one wish when the day would come. “Why have you come here? Are the others going to follow you?”

“Others?” I drawled, rubbing my palms, frightening away the cold. “I have the King’s orders to protect you.” Her parted mouth made me reconsider the conclusion. She hadn’t taken Robert’s observation to be anything serious. Instantly, in an attempt to hide away her feelings on the matter, she diverted her gaze to the dire wolf pup, which was licking her leg.

I was astounded by my own behavior when I took a note of the surrounding. In my whole life, I had never been with a young girl, all alone, in some stranded place. Even Cersei and I hadn’t got any privacy to celebrate our love. In fact, we had not spared any time to make love with patience. The attempts had been mostly fast, frenzy, in the cover, wary of intruders, wary of being caught. There was a delectable pump of blood to the heart while seeking for that forbidden love. But for the first time, I wondered about bringing Cersei here, in the quietness of chilled air with no noise, and more peace. All the more, I felt the need to be going back to my sister’s arms. The prospect of standing there with the bastard girl made me grow angrier with every passing minute.

“Listen to me, bastard!” I snapped. “Why don’t you save my energy by not running about anywhere you wish? I have got more duties other than to trail behind your skirt.”

“I didn’t ask you to trail after me. Take it to the King, if you need salvation from your duties, Kingslayer!” Lyarra ended up giving the damned clout a thousand times harder with her words. I hated her guts, but I couldn’t hate it enough to kill her in that instant. “Besides, I am giving you a free ride to enjoy the beautiful place in the North. Even many northerners aren’t well aware of this place.”

I snorted. This place had a serenity to it, but without the woman I love, nothing mattered. “You call this cold, dry land as beautiful!!? I am sure you will fall headfirst if you manage to reach King’s Landing in a single piece.”

“Nothing can match with Winterfell. I wonder if I could find a place as calm and peaceful as these lands anywhere in the world.” She sighed with longingness lacing her eager tone.

“No place is peaceful, bastard! We men are created to destroy the peace.”

Her pretty mouth frowned with a scowl. “And the same men are capable of bringing peace, like my father. You need a little positivity in your life.”

“And you need to hear a little story of my father or that of the Mad King or of…” I lingered long to spill out the ugliness of the world. The truth of how cruel, men could turn the situations as it suited them. Or how Robert would take what he desired from her. Or that how none of her heroic adventures would make her better once she came out of her pretty little den. No matter what, my bleeding conscience begged me to tell her once to not leave her home.

But I couldn’t let the words out.

It would make me look like a whimpering, weak fool. It wasn’t my place to take her hand and explain the truth of life. Not that she was going to listen to me. If she truly made her bed to lay with Robert or whatever her little head had calculated, who am I to stop her. “Answer me truthfully, bastard!” I gave a mocking twist to my brows. “What a girl like you can do when men like me make a claim on you?”

It was quite a delight to see her sneering face change into beet-red anger. She was boiling with the rage of being questioned, of her invisible honor.

“Assume, now I try to take your maiden-head…” I paused and squeezed my eyes. “That is another assumption… Well, let us assume your maiden-head is intact and I take it forcefully, what are you capable of doing?”

Her lips, nose, and cheeks turned red and redder. That little dire wolf pup of hers, which wasn’t barking, stood with its front legs bent, ready to hunt me alive. “You will have to face my father’s sword before you leave this place. He will sever your head–”

“Ah!!! Stop chanting praises for your father. I am Jaime Lannister, a trueborn son of the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms. You are a bastard girl, whose mother is probably a common-whore for the realm to know. My sister, the Queen, my brother, and the King himself would care so less for your maidenhead. Your father will have no choice other than to give you moon tea.”

It wasn’t in me to threaten a young girl about raping. Not that I was interested in her, in the slightest bit. Cersei was the only woman for my life. I hated her arrogant guts to challenge everyone and everything she saw upon. Her foolish naivety to presume the world was a better place triggered my angered soul. It was like seeing my own reflection from the past when I was even more stupid than her. This world was filled with monsters. Without a pragmatic sense of reality, she was assuming everyone to be beneath her ideological ideal self. Just like her father!!!

“I will survive, Ser!” She answered in her calmest voices, without meeting my eyes. In the next second, she steered own glance towards her horse. “I am more than what is there between my legs. You can take what you want but can never break what I am made of!”

In a swift motion, she walked towards her horse, untying the reins from the pine tree. Both the horse and the dire wolf pup stared at me, in an accusatory glance for awarding pain to their master. Or it was my imagination to think that animals were capable of experiencing pain from their master.

It didn’t matter; I said to myself. I only warned her to keep away from power, I convinced myself yet again, when she climbed efficiently and rode off without turning back.

Seeing her disappearing into the cloud of mist and fog made my heart race fast in agony. How much ever I tried convincing that I didn’t care for that bastard girl, an unknown force in me, gave a plunging ache for wounding her innocent, naïve soul. It was easy. Wasn’t it? To tell a little bundle of force that no one would give a dime about her because she was born with a bastard status, that she had no control of. To see her spirit get broken just so easily that she couldn’t stand in the same place as any high born. It really was that easy.

I ended up feeling like a piece of shit like sometimes Joffrey would act like. What would my mother say about me, if she happened to see how I grew up to be? I had done worse crimes. I’d lied to my own brother, had killed a King that I swore to protect with my life, and had allowed my own father to butcher young children, had fucked my sister and had made her cuckold a ruling King. But I had never broken a young spirited girl with a world view of naivety.

Uninterested in returning to real life to guard a worthless King, I sat down on the same edge where the bastard girl had been sitting and looked beneath. On the opposite side of the slope, a silver sprinkled waterfall, graciously poured its slithering sleek water into the stream connecting to the nearby village. It was indeed a peaceful and beautiful land. I had to agree on that matter. _Perhaps I was the cynical bastard, and not that willful, wild creature. Well, I don’t regret what I am made of. I blame the world for what I turned out to be!_


End file.
